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FRENCH  LITERATURE 
OF  TO-DAY 


A   STUDY  OF  THE  PRINCIPAL  ROMANCERS 
AND  ESSAYISTS    .    , 


BY  ■,..... 

YETTA  BLAZE  DE  BURY 


BOSTON  AND    NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

Cte  3Ri\3ersitie  Prei^^,  CamtriDae 

189S 


COPYRIGHT,  1898,  BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   CO. 
ALL  RIGHTS  KKSERVBD 


6S- 


To 
M.  FERDINAND  BRUNETltRE 

OF   THE   ACADi:MIE    FEANQAISE 

THIS  BOOK  IS  INSCRIBED 

AS   A   TOKEN   OF   GRATITUDE   AND  ADMIRATION 


689621 


Digitized  by  tlie  Internet  Arcliive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/frencliliteratureOOblazricli 


PREFACE 


To  run  a  connecting  thread  through  the  sketches 
contained  in  this  little  book  were  a  futile  task. 
The  thread  would  be  broken  at  once ;  for  could 
Zola  be  tied  to  Brunetiere,  or  Anatole  France  to 
Vogiie  ?  Reedited  papers,  gathered  into  one  vol- 
ume, are  very  much  like  a  miscellaneous  company 
of  steamboat  passengers,  each  of  whom  has  gone 
on  board  independently  of  the  rest.  When  cir- 
cumstances thus  bring  together  the  censured  and 
the  censor,  silence  among  the  passengers  answers 
for  peace. 

In  a  book  like  this  the  reader  comes  upon  the 
literary  portraits  that  are  presented  to  him,  only 
one  by  one,  as  the  captain  of  the  boat  visits  cabin 
after  cabin.  Diverse  in  their  tastes,  in  their  tend- 
encies, in  their  surroundings,  the  French  authors 
here  brought  before  the  American  reader  will  re- 
ceive, it  is  hoped,  at  least  a  little  of  the  favor 
which  we  give  in  France  to  the  masters  of  Amer- 
ican literature.  The  aim  of  the  writer  of  these 
sketches  has  been  above  all  to  win  for  her  com- 
patriots, from  the  reading  public  in  the  United 
States,  some  slight  return  of  the  esteem  we  cherish 


vi  PREFACE 

for  Emerson,  Hawthorne,  Poe,  Longfellow.  She 
has  sought  to  make  the  essence  of  the  French 
literary  genius  felt  by  the  readers  of  a  foreign 
country  which  she  admires  sincerely,  and  which, 
throughout  all  its  history,  has  ever  been  sympa- 
thetic toward  us  politically  and  industrially. 

If  the  American  people  shaU  grant  to  these  por- 
traits a  little  of  the  cordiality  of  reception  which 
they  have  given  so  generously  to  some  of  the  ori- 
ginals, the  author's   efforts  will  be   fully  recom- 


Paris,  2  March,  1898. 


CONTENTS 

Page 

Pierre  Loti 1 

wGuY  DE  RIaupassant 23 

««^OLA  A8  AN  Evolutionist 37 

li^DMOND   DE    GONCOURT 53 

Jean  Martin  Charcot 86 

Paul  Bourget 107 

Eugene  Melchior  de  VoGirt: 133 

Ferdinand  BnuNETii^RE 156 

Jules  Lemaitre 183 

Anatole  France 211 

Madame  Blanc  Bentzon  as  a  Romance  Writer        .  239 

Paul  Verlaine 263 


FRENCH  LITERATURE" OF 
TO-DAY  _    - 


PIERRE   LOTI 

"  Is  this  man  Loti  ?  Why,  the  thing  is  impos- 
sible! Such  a  plain,  insignificant-looking  person 
father  to  Rarahu,  to  Gaud,  to  Aziyade?"  and 
all  Paris  passes  in  frustrated  disappointment  at 
not  seeing  the  light  of  genius,  the  dreams  of  the 
poet,  and  the  speculations  of  the  psychologist  at 
once  in  Commandant  Viand's  excellent  portrait 
at  the  Palais  de  I'lndustrie. 

"  But,  madame,  a  portrait  gives  only  one  aspect 
of  a  physiognomy.  How  can  you  expect  it  to  give 
you  at  once  the  source  whence  Rarahu's  morbidezza. 
Gaud's  virtue,  Aziyade's  passion,  come  ?  It  is  only 
as  centuries  go  by  that  an  Erasmus's  picture  ac- 
quires all  the  wit  contained  in  '  L'Eloge  de  la 
Folic.'  Death  alone  and  the  imagination  of  the 
public  make  man  one  with  his  work.  But  a  quoi 
honf  II  y  a  des  hanalites  immortelles.  Besides, 
Loti  is  a  poet  and  a  word-painter  himself ;  as  great 
a  colorist,  pen  in  hand,  as  Decamps  or  Corot ;  that 
is  to  say,  feeling  equally  the  cloudy,  misty  aspects 
of  nature,  as  those  of  light.  Brittany  and  the 
equator,  Paimpol  and  Papeete,  Chateaubriand 
and  Theophile  Gautier,  —  that  is  Loti.  Not  the 
Chateaubriand    of    the   '  Prose   Epics,'   but    the 


2  PIERRE  LOTI 

Chateaubriand-voyageur,  the  Chateaubriand  of 
'  Atala '  and  of  the  Pere  Aubry,  of  whom  Loti 
reminds  one,  in  interrupting,  as  he  does,  Rarahu's 
very  enibraceis  by  reflections  of  the  following  kind  : 
'L'eternelle  et  sublime  priere  du  Christ,  Notre 
Pere  qui  ctes  aux  cieux,  sonnait  d'une  maniere 
etrangement  mysterieuse  et  mystique  au-dela  du 
vieux  monde,  aux  Antipodes,  dite  par  la  voix  de 
ce  vieillard  fantome.'  Chateaubriand  and  Loti  are 
alike  in  some  aspects  of  their  minds.  The  analogy 
between  Gautier  and  Loti,  however,  lies  in  the 
aesthetical  temperament  of  both :  in  their  common 
worship  of  the  sun.  The  one,  Gautier,  a  pagan, 
bursts  into  full  bloom  at  the  first  touch  of  the 
East.  The  other,  Loti,  offers  his  divinity  a  more 
mystical  internal  cult.  Gautier  dwells  in  Olym- 
pus amidst  gold  and  glitter,  side  by  side  with  the 
impassible  Juno  ;  Loti,  on  the  contrary,  of  a  more 
unquiet  nature,  demands  of  himself,  Whence 
comes  in  the  creature  man  his  thirst  for  belief  ?  " 

"  Quelles  sont  ces  essences  inconnues  qui  planent 
dans  les  endroits  ou  Ton  a  prie  longtemps  ?  Quelle 
est  cette  oppression  du  surnaturel  ?  "  Both  Loti 
and  Gautier  turn  to  the  sun  in  their  own  way ; 
but  their  ways  differ  as  they  themselves  differ, 
Gautier  being  above  all  an  Athenian,  Loti  a 
Celt.  Gautier  finds  pleasure  in  love  ;  Loti,  like 
Chateaubriand  and  like  all  the  modern  school,  sees 
in  the  "  fact  love  "  only  a  creative  force,  whence 
work  is  conceived  in  torture  and  in  woe.  Loti  is 
not  only  in  his  work  the  man  of  his  time,  but  is 
so  quite  as  much  in  his  very  being.  Logical,  im- 
placable, passionate,  and  taciturn,  will  is  to  him 


PIERRE  LOTI  3 

the  supreme  law :  lie  counts  with  sentiment  as 
with  an  evil.  Without  a  certain  amount  of  emo- 
tion really  experienced,  he  loiows  the  brain  cannot 
produce  the  Gauds,  the  Rarahus,  etc. ;  such  crea- 
tions being  conducive  to  fame,  the  emotions  have 
to  be  borne.     To  such  men  love  is  only  a  means. 

Self-consciousness  has  a  considerable  part  also 
in  Loti's  writings  ;  his  reminiscences  carry  him 
back  to  scenes  where  the  puerilities  of  child-life 
are  entirely  lost  in  the  poetry  of  the  pictures. 
"  The  days  lengthened,  the  flowers  grew,  the  heat 
and  light  became  intense :  something  unexpected 
to  me,  I  felt,  was  going  to  take  place.  It  was 
summer ;  I  was  then  three  years  old  ;  all  my  day 
had  been  employed  in  mud-pie  making.  I  had 
turned  these  pies  into  an  alley  planted  with  rows 
of  cut  flowers.  Notwithstanding  my  wish  to  walk 
in  this  garden,  I  perceived  it  was  too  small  even 
for  myself.  To  admire  my  doings  from  above,  I 
rose  on  my  wheelbarrow,  overturned  it,  and  fell. 
My  nurse  took  me  up,  sang  to  me,  coaxed  me. 
Since,  I  have  understood  that  had  I  been  coaxed 
and  sung  to  on  all  occasions  in  life  when  I  failed 
for  having  undertaken  the  impossible,  I  should 
have  suffered  far  less.  During  those  lovely  sum- 
mer days,  in  order  to  express  my  exultation,  I  com- 
posed hymns  to  nature,  which  I  sang  to  myself." 
To  his  home,  also,  Loti  has  remained  faithful, 
through  travels  and  years.  In  "  Fleurs  d'Ennui," 
one  of  his  last  books,  he  writes :  "  This  bench  on 
which  I  am  now  is  my  true  home  ;  here  comes 
my  mother  across  the  courtyard.  Oh,  the  love  of 
a  mother,  the  only  disinterested  one,  the  only  love 


4  PIERRE  LOT  I 

which  breeds  no  deception,  the  only  love  which 
teaches  one  to  believe  in  the  soul  and  in  life 
eternal !  What  madness  prompts  me  to  rush  con- 
stantly from  this  home  to  far-away  lands !  " 

Sadness,  that  latent  sadness  of  things,  mentioned 
by  Virgil,  expressed  by  Othello's  cry  of  despair, 
"O  lago,  the  pity  of  it!"  that  philosophical 
sorrow  born  in  the  thinker  from  the  decay  and 
brevity  of  all  that  is  human,  —  such  a  sadness, 
enhanced  in  his  sailor-mind  by  seeing  man  all 
over  the  world  subjected  to  the  same  misery,  is 
the  dominant  note  of  our  prose  poet.  A  veil  of 
melancholy  drapes  all  Loti's  works :  it  over- 
shadows Rarahu's  hut;  filters  in  Aziyade's  bou- 
doir; dwells  at  Ploubazlanec  by  old  Mother 
Moan  ;  and  clings  to  "  Un  Vieux."  As  the  space 
fails  us  here  in  face  of  Loti's  entire  work,  we  will 
restrict  ourselves  to  those  books  which  present  the 
most  opposed  characters,  illustrating  thus  what 
we  said  above  of  Loti's  equal  understanding  of 
all  aspects  of  nature,  whether  Asiatic  or  polar. 
Born  in  1850  at  La  Eochelle,  Pierre  Viand  or 
Loti  had  just  reached  the  grade  of  lieutenant  de 
vaisseau  when  the  "  Mariage  de  Loti  "  appeared, 
and  had  already  navigated  around  the  world  for 
upwards  of  twelve  years.  "  Propos  d'Exil,"  which 
came  out  in  1885,  is  the  condensation  of  his 
Asiatic  impressions,  a  more  desolate  book  than 
others,  as  it  is  written  from  Tonking,  where  Loti 
says,  "  La  France  est  si  loin  dans  ce  pays  jaime, 
qu'on  n'espere  plus  la  revoir;"  it  contains  the 
pathetic  narrative  of  Admiral  Courbet's  death. 

The    "  Mariage    de   Loti "   was   Commandant 


PIERRE  LOTI  6 

Vlaud's  first  book,  and  was  at  once  noticed.  If 
Karahu,  tlie  heroine  of  this  romance,  differs  in  her- 
self and  in  her  surroundings  greatly  from  her 
elder  sisters  Atala  and  Ourika,i  it  is  principally 
that  Loti,  her  creator,  is  a  physiologist  as  well  as  a 
dreamer.  The  days  of  neo-Sauvagerie,  like  the 
days  of  neo-Greek  dress,  are  as  far  from  us  as 
Madame  Eecamier's  turban  and  Ourika's  Chris- 
tian submission.  Though  of  a  less  medical  turn  of 
mind  than  Zola  and  Maupassant,  Loti  submits  to 
the  influence  of  his  time ;  he  creates  bodies  as  well 
as  souls,  —  bodies  endowed,  as  in  real  life,  with 
stronger  influence  on  the  moral  being  than  the 
moral  being  ever  had  on  the  mere  body ;  hypno- 
tism, in  proving  that  the  first  condition  required  in 
the  subject,  for  the  producing  of  any  phenomena, 
is  to  be  hyper-nervously  organized,  has  shown  the 
supremacy  of  the  body,  humanly  speaking.  How- 
ever null  may  be  the  will  in  the  subject,  if  the 
physical  organism  does  not  sufficiently  vibrate  to 
receive  the  discharge  of  animal  magnetism  as  its 
propulsor,  no  phenomena  are  produced. 

To  the  modern  school  of  science  the  soul  is  but 
an  outcome  of  cerebral  forces.  Hence  springs  one 
of  the  chief  results  of  literature  —  the  passionate 
study  of   physiology.     When   Shakespeare   men- 

^  Ourika,  a  novel  written  by  the  Duchesse  de  Duras, 
created  a  great  sensation  in  the  days  of  Napoleon  I.  It 
is  the  story  of  a  negro  girl  who,  brought  in  contact  with 
the  highest  Paris  world,  loves  with  the  violence  of  her  race, 
and  submits  to  the  sacrifice  of  her  love  with  the  passivity 
of  a  Catholic  nun.  No  book  can  betray  a  greater  ignorance 
of  physiology  than  Ourika ;  but  in  those  days  physiology 
was  unknown,  at  least  unapplied  to  romance-writing. 


6  PIERRE  LOT  I 

tloned  Hamlet's  fatness  and  short  breath,  he  did 
no  less  in  favor  of  physiology  than  the  modern 
French  masters.  Villemain  said,  "  Pour  compren- 
dre  tout  plus  clairement  il  faut  d'abord  com- 
prendre  I'homme.  Tout  ecrivain  et  tout  penseur 
devrait  faire  son  doctorat  en  medecine."  Mau- 
passant, Zola,  Loti  himself,  though  much  modified 
by  the  poet  which  is  in  him,  are  more  or  less  phy- 
sicians. Their  subject  is  a  living  one,  that  is  the 
difference  !  Instead  of  pressing  with  the  finger  on 
dead  arteries  in  their  demonstration  of  circulation, 
these  thinkers  watch  the  play  of  forces  in  the  liv- 
ing subject,  man.  As  they  see  impulse  or  instinct 
overthrow  reason,  they  look  on.  Their  process  of 
study  is  not  mischievous,  it  is  merciful,  —  as  mer- 
ciful as  the  diagnosis  of  the  scientific  man,  who 
foresees  in  the  abscess  of  to-day  the  cancer  of  ten 
years  hence  ;  though  he  cannot  cure  it,  by  caref  id 
advice  he  prolongs  life.  Should  a  novelist,  there- 
fore, write  only  truth,  but  real  human  truth,  he 
would  in  so  far  be  doing  a  good  deed.  No  man 
would  ever  have  trusted  and  followed  an  JEschylus 
or  a  Shakespeare  if,  before  rising  to  sublimity,  he 
had  not  felt  that  his  guide  knew  him  as  a  man,  — 
knew  him  thoroughly  and  understood  him.  If  gen- 
ius did  not  caress  humanity  first  by  talking  to  it 
the  language  of  its  weaknesses,  humanity  would 
never  listen  to  the  teachings  of  genius.  Truth, 
whether  noble  or  ignoble,  whether  realistic  or 
idealistic,  is  good  when  spoken,  for  truth  alone 
breeds  useful  thought  in  the  minds  of  those  whose 
thoughts  are  entitled  to  command  attention. 

An  imitation   savage   like  Ourika  puzzles   the 


PIERRE  LOT  I  7 

reader  ;  a  true  little  wild  being  like  Rarahu 
attaches.  She  has  lovable  Instincts  as  well  as 
savage  ones ;  she  is  a  genuinely  interesting  object 
of  study  for  the  critic,  because  she  is  herself  a 
genuine  piece  of  humanity. 

Rarahu,  the  principal  actress  of  the  "  Mariage 
de  Loti,"  dwells  in  the  rivulet  of  Tataoue,  —  the 
Burlington  Arcade  of  Papeete.  She  is  to  be  seen 
there  like  a  bronze  Correggio  nymph,  either 
clothed  by  the  limpid  waters,  or  lounging  on  the 
deep  green  grass  on  the  shore.  Harry  Grant,  an 
English  marine  officer,  whose  name  has  been 
turned  to  "  Loti  "  for  the  sake  of  Tahitian  pro- 
nunciation, meets  Rarahu,  loves,  and  marries  her, 
not  by  that  everlasting  bond  known  to  so-called 
civilized  countries,  but  according  to  Papeete  cus- 
toms, which,  in  fact,  differ  so  little  from  any  others 
that  marriage  lasts  just  as  long  —  or  is  as  short  — 
as  the  man  wishes  ! 

One  evening  at  a  court  ball  Rarahu  has  been 
dazzled  and  maddened  by  the  dresses  of  Tahiti 
Europeanized  ladies  ;  the  next  day  she  appears  to 
Loti  arrayed  in  a  splendid  pareo,  but  a  pareo 
bespeaking  its  Chinese  origin.  Now  anything 
Chinese  means  shame,  and  Loti,  having  got  really 
to  care  for  Rarahu,  feels  sad. 

He  has  gone  too  far,  however.  In  his  conclusions, 
and  the  way  in  which  Rarahu  greets  a  Celestial, 
obese,  and  yellow  old  gentleman,  who  desecrates 
her  rivulet  by  bathing  in  it,  convinces  Loti  of  his 
mistake.  Rarahu  is  confused,  she  is  not  culpable. 
"  She  sat  on  my  knees  and  wept  her  eyes  out,  for 
in  that  little  wild  heart  of  hers  good  and  bad  were 


8  PIERRE  LOTI 

strangely  mixed,  though  her  innate  sharpness  led 
her  to  understand  the  gap  between  us,  created 
by  the  different  views  we  took  of  all  things  in 
general." 

Rarahu  has  been  adopted  by  two  old  people,^ 
but  after  their  death  she  goes  to  live  altogether 
with  Loti.  The  first  knell  of  separation  tolls  for 
the  lovers  when  Loti's  frigate  is  ordered  away  to 
the  Sandwich  Islands ;  the  distance  is  short,  but 
nevertheless  it  involves  a  first  parting. 

Rarahu,  inspired  by  love,  applies  her  knowledge 
of  writing :  "  My  sorrow  is  higher  than  the  Parai". 
O  my  lover,  thou  hast  gone,  and  thy  eyes  may  now 
be  lifted  to  me ;  mine  can  no  more  meet  their 
gaze,  but,  alas  !  every  day  I  feel  more  that  women 
like  myself  are  but  toys  to  men  of  your  race." 

At  his  return  Loti  finds  Rarahu  has  learned 
English.  "  Her  voice  seemed  sweeter  than  ever 
in  this  language,  although  she  could  not  pro- 
nounce its  hard  syllables."  Loti's  knowledge  of 
Rarahu's  weak  nature  makes  him  fear  that  no 
sooner  shall  he  be  gone  than  she  will  become  light 
and  dissipated.  "  To  all  my  entreaties  that  she 
would  keep  faithful  to  the  higher  mode  of  life  I 
had  initiated  her  into,  she  only  sneered,  or  op- 
posed the  most  determined  silence." 

Faithful  to  Loti  she  was,  though,  but  in  that 
measure  which  was  Polynesian  fidelity.  She  had 
no  European  lovers,  that  was  all !  and  that  was  a 

^  Tahitian  parents  place  their  children  in  the  hands  of  will- 
ing persons,  who  take  charge  of  them  as  though  they  were 
their  own,  —  rather  a  terrible  argument  against  the  laws 
of  nature  ! 


PIERRE  LOTI  9 

great  deal,  as  natives  were  not  counted !  To  her 
lover's  prayer  "  that  she  should  go  on  believing  in 
God  as  before,"  she  answered,  "  I  believe  in  no- 
thing more,  not  even  in  ghosts,  for  there  is  nothing 
after  death,  and  ghosts  themselves  only  last  as  long 
as  the  body  endures."  This  harshness  gives  way 
before  grief,  however.  On  the  day  of  the  final 
parting  she  says,  "  I  am  thine,  Loti,  thy  little  wife 
forever.  Fear  nothing  ;  to-morrow  I  leave  Papeete 
and  take  refuge  with  Tiahou'i"  (a  dutiful  married 
Tahitian). 

The  frigate  goes  back  to  Europe.  Years  elapse, 
and  one  day  Loti  lands  in  Papeete  again ;  he  has- 
tens to  inquire  after  Rarahu  —  she  is  dead.  For 
one  whole  year  after  he  left  she  was  a  model.  But 
days  rubbed  away  the  sorrow,  and  augmented  the 
wish  for  pleasure.  She  gave  way :  the  result  was 
early  death. 

Instinct  had  been  at  the  bottom  of  Earahu's  bet- 
ter qualities.  Instinct  as  weU  was  her  ruin  !  It 
is  the  tale  of  Rarahu  which  Loti  tells  us.  He  is 
far  too  much  of  a  disciple  of  Merimee  to  profit  by 
the  occasion  for  moralizing  on  the  "  misdeeds  of 
the  civilized  man  "  !  Loti's  moral  lessons,  luckily 
for  his  reader,  run  through  the  lives  of  his  heroes. 
He  is  too  much  also  a  man  of  the  world,  pen  in 
hand,  to  see  in  Rarahu  anything  but  a  lovely 
bibelot.  "  Cela  plait  —  on  s'en  lasse  —  et  c'est 
fini."  A  bibelot's  life  begins  and  ends  with  the 
caprice  of  the  purchaser. 

A  most  direct  counterpart  to  the  "  Mariage  de 
Loti  "  is  "  Les  Pecheurs  d'Islande,"  —  a  book  as 
eloquent  on  the  poetry  of  duty  as  the  other  was 


10  PIERRE  LOT  I 

eloquent  on  the  divers  sensuousnesses  of  tropical 
natures. 

Not  only  is  "  Les  Pecheurs  d'Islande  "  opposed 
to  the  "  Mariage  de  Loti "  by  the  countries  where 
the  action  of  the  story  takes  place,  Brittany  and 
Iceland,  but  also  because  the  nobility  of  the  pas- 
sions within  the  heroes'  hearts  offers  a  more  favor- 
able ground  to  the  author's  psychical  temperament ; 
vouchsafes  him  more  scope  for  those  curiosities 
which  momentarily  raise  the  novelist  to  the  rank 
of  a  Montaigne  or  a  Bacon.  Where  are  the  germs 
of  thought  ?  Does  man  know  all  he  thinks  ?  Can 
thoughts  lie  unknown  to  the  thinker  in  the  think- 
er's own  mind  for  a  long  time  ?  Is  the  true  man 
the  one  who  speaks  in  the  state  of  unconsciousness, 
madness,  or  dotage  ?  or  is  the  true  man  the  one 
who,  knowing  his  own  shortcomings,  conceals 
them,  and  acts  nobly  whilst  he  feels  basely  ? 
These  are  the  queries  which  Loti  is  brought  to  ask 
himself,  when  old  Mother  Moan,  a  model  of  virtue 
for  seventy-three  years,  all  at  once  begins  in  old 
age  to  shout  out  foul  images.  Are  these  the  out- 
comes of  folly  ?  Were  they  part  of  Mother  Moan's 
true  self  ?  Did  she  know  of  these  feelings  and  con- 
ceal them  as  long  as  reason  was  mistress  in  her  ? 
or  did  she  harbor  all  these  thoughts  in  herself 
unconsciously,  so  that  madness  alone  would  reveal 
their  existence  ? 

"  Avoir  ete  toujours  bonne,  pure,  puis  etaler 
pour  finir  une  science  de  mots  grossiers  qu'on  avait 
cachee,  —  mystere  moqueur!  "  A  mystery  sketched 
out,  however,  three  hundred  years  ago  by  Shake- 
speare when  he  brought  out  of  Ophelia's  mouth, 


PIERRE  LOTI  11 

and  out  of  King  Lear's,  under  pretense  of  mad- 
ness, the  strange  songs  of  Hamlet's  mistress,  and 
the  scathing  speeches  of  Lear  to  women. 

Gaud,  the  heroine  of  "  Les  Pecheurs  d'Islande," 
is  all  moral  effort ;  her  love  is  all  abnegation. 
Whilst  Rarahu's  untutored  soul  tends  to  the  ab- 
sorption of  all  else  by  self,  Gaud,  on  the  reverse, 
throws  her  own  individuality  entirely  into  her  love. 

"  Yann  sera  pour  elle,  quoiqu'il  arrive  toute  sa 
vie,  un  fiance  qu'elle  n'aura  pas,  un  fiance  fuyant. 
Elle  le  preferait  en  Islande  car  les  cloitres  de  la 
mer  le  lui  gardaient.  Aucune  femme  ainsi  ne  lui 
prenait !  " 

At  a  fair  in  Brittany,  Gaud,  a  kind  of  "de- 
moiselle "  (her  father  possesses  landed  proper- 
ties), walks  leisurely  up  and  down.  Seeing  a  hand- 
some gigantic  sailor,  she  exclaims,  "  Here  is  a 
giant !  "  The  man  turns  round,  takes  in  her  en- 
tire person  at  one  survey,  and  thinks,  "Who  is 
this  woman  so  pretty,  with  the  Paimpol  coiffe,  yet 
unknown  to  me  ?  "  Thus  do  the  two  heroes  of 
"  Les  Pecheurs  d'Islande  "  meet  for  the  first  time. 

Their  next  encounter  happens  at  a  wedding, 
where  Yann  point-blank  informs  Gaud,  without 
any  more  words,  that  she,  and  she  alone,  in  Paim- 
pol —  and  in  the  world  —  is  capable  of  deterring 
him  from  good  fishing !  This  is  all  he  says,  but 
it  is  said  with  such  a  look  that  though  Gaud  is  the 
richest  and  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  place,  her  heart 
shall  hence  be  approached  by  none.  When  he  sets 
out  for  Iceland,  "  le  beau  Yann  "  starts  without 
having  even  so  much  as  called  again  upon  Gaud ! 
At  his  return  there  is  the  same  indifference  on  his 


12  PIERRE  LOTI 

part.  Not  only  does  he  never  come  near  her,  but 
he  courts  many  others.  Gaud's  heart  is  smking ; 
she  takes  the  initiative,  and  seizing  hold  of  a  kind 
of  business  between  her  father  and  Yann's  father, 
she  walks  off  to  their  house,  hoping  to  meet  Yann, 
but  he  is  out  "  tackle-buying,"  so  it  is  all  useless  ! 
Before  the  next  departure  for  Iceland  she  knows 
he  will  call  at  her  house,  always  touching  that 
same  business.  This  time,  happen  what  may,  she 
will  speak  to  him.  The  day  comes.  After  such 
an  inward  battle  as  to  feel  herself  half  dead,  she 
springs  from  her  room  down  the  stairs  as  Yann 
is  going  from  her  father  towards  the  entrance  door, 
and  faces  him. 

"  Monsieur  Yann,  I  want  a  word  with  you." 

"  With  me,  mademoiselle  ?  "  and  as  if  from  fear 
of  contact  with  her,  Yann  effaces  himself  against 
the  wall !  Her  heart  sinks  ;  she  could  not  expect 
such  disdain  on  his  part.  In  a  voice  so  husky  and 
unnatural  that  she  does  not  know  it  as  her  own, 
"  Monsieur  Yann,"  she  asks,  "  is  our  house  now  so 
repulsive  to  you  ?  The  night  of  that  ball  when  we 
first  met,  you  spoke  the  words  '  au  revoir '  to  me 
in  such  a  manner  that  I  had  reason  to  believe  I 
was  not  quite  indifferent  in  your  eyes  ?  " 

"  No,  Mademoiselle  Gaud,  we  have  been  already 
talked  about  enough  in  this  country.  You  are 
rich  ;  we  do  not  belong  to  the  same  class.  I  am 
not  a  man  to  be  continually  coming  to  your  house. 
Good-by !  "  —  and  he  goes. 

Oh,  had  he  but  listened  one  moment !  She  would 
have  pleaded,  "  Forget  my  money,  —  let  yourself 
be  loved."     She  would  have  said,  "  I  am  pretty,  I 


PIERRE  LOTI  13 

am  honest,  Yann.  I  love  you  —  take  me  to  your 
heart !  "  But  none  of  these  words  should  now  ever 
be  uttered :  to  attempt  another  explanation  after 
tliis  one,  how  could  she  ? 

The  departure  for  Iceland  took  Yann  again 
away.  During  this  journey  of  his,  events  hap- 
pened. An  old  woman,  Mother  Moan,  a  kind  of 
relation  of  Gaud,  lost  her  grandson,  and  through 
this  almost  lost  her  mind.  Gaud's  father  died, 
and  unexpectedly  left  her  penniless. 

She  sold  all  she  had,  and  took  up  her  abode  with 
Mother  Moan,  earning  a  living  for  both  of  them 
by  her  needle.  When  night  came,  harassed  by 
the  toil  of  the  day,  but  firm  and  courageous.  Gaud 
lay  down  in  her  little  bed,  still  hoping  for  Yann's 
return.  She  thought,  "  He  cannot  escape  from 
calling  on  Mother  Moan,  as  Sylvester  [the  grand- 
son] was  a  sailor  in  the  same  crew  as  Yann. 
When  he  calls,  I  shall  be  there,  and  this  time  I 
will  govern  circumstances,  and  try  again." 

One  day  she  heard  that  La  Marie  (Yann's  boat) 
had  returned.  Growing  feverish  before  the  end 
of  her  daily  task,  she  hurried  off  her  work  and 
started  to  walk  home.  She  had  not  proceeded  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  before  she  recognized  him  on 
the  road  coming  towards  her.  She  felt  her  feet 
give  way.  What  would  become  of  her?  The 
same  fear  and  mad  heart-beating  as  at  her  fa- 
ther's house  came  over  her ;  the  sudden  thought 
also  struck  her  that  her  hair  looked  unbecoming. 
Oh,  that  she  could  only  disappear  in  one  of  the 
bushes  !  Yann,  on  his  side,  was  quite  as  discom- 
fited ;  but  it  was  not  to  be  helped,  and  they  passed 


14  PIERRE  LOTI 

each  other.  She  gave  him  one  look  of  entreaty  ; 
he  took  off  his  cap,  and  said,  "  Bonjour,  Made- 
moiselle Gaud."  She  answered,  "  Bonjour,  Mon- 
sieur Yann."  He  hurried  away,  and  she  felt 
stunned.  This  old  heart-breaking  game,  so  often 
played  since  Beatrice  and  Benedick,  never  has 
been  more  feelingly  portrayed  than  in  these  few 
touches  of  Loti.  Two  utterances,  "  Bonjour,  Ma- 
demoiselle Gaud,"  "  Bonjour,  Monsieur  Yann," 
and  the  bubble  blown  by  hope  has  burst.  A  sec- 
ond before,  no  sacrifice  was  above  Gaud  ;  but  what 
was  the  use  now?  She  was  not  only  to  him 
"  Mademoiselle  Gaud,"  but  a  Mademoiselle  Gaud, 
like  any  other  mademoiselle !  This  was  the  real 
end  of  all !  "  Alors  la  chaumiere  lui  sembla  plus 
desolee,  la  misere  plus  dure,  le  monde  plus  vide  — 
et  elle  baissa  la  tete  avec  une  envie  de  mourir." 

The  time  for  sailing  was  again  at  hand.  Yann 
had  just  received  his  pay  from  his  employer  when 
he  caught  sight  of  a  mob  near  Ploubazlanec.  An 
old  woman  stood  gesticulating  with  her  stick, 
screaming  and  menacing,  whilst  boys  laughed  and 
mocked  her  ;  they  had  killed  her  cat !  Yann,  in- 
furiated, dispersed  the  mob.  Gaud,  coming  back 
from  Paimpol,  hastened  to  the  group,  and  lifting 
her  eyes  to  Yann  in  one  touching  look  of  inquiry, 
said,  "  The  mother  has  been  dragged  along,  I  assure 
you.  Monsieur  Yann ;  her  dress  was  all  neat  and 
clean  this  morning,  when  I  left  her."  And  whilst 
she  spoke,  Yann  kept  looking  at  her  as  though  her 
poverty  enhanced  her  charm.  Her  mourning  sur- 
rounded her  with  a  halo  of  dignity.  Yann  walked 
on  with  both  the  women. 


PIERRE  LOT  I  15 

Poor  Gaud's  heart  was  on  her  lips ;  she  felt  as 
though  it  would  burst.  What  could  be  the  mean- 
ing of  such  attentions  on  the  part  of  Yann  ?  They 
had  reached  their  door  —  what  would  happen  now? 
Was  he  going  to  leave  them  ?  Or  was  it  possible 
that  he  would  pass  their  threshold  ?  Some  grand 
decision  was  about  to  be  taken  —  each  of  these 
three  felt  it. 

Happiness  had  come  to  Gaud  at  last.  They 
married.  For  six  days  Gaud  was  Madame  Gaos. 
Then  came  again  the  Iceland  departure,  and  Gaud 
was  left  behind. 

Summer  passed,  and  in  September  the  boats 
began  to  return  ;  October,  November,  December, 
—  neither  Yann  nor  any  of  the  crew  were  seen. 
A  year  went  by ;  none  of  them  ever  reappeared. 

One  ominous  night  Yann  had  celebrated  his 
nuptials  with  the  sea.  "An  unspeakable  mystery 
had  presided  over  the  monstrous  wedding;  the 
sky,  draped  in  black,  overshadowed  the  feast. 
The  bride  gave  tongue  in  order  to  smother  the 
victim's  shrieks.  Thinking  of  Gaud,  his  earthly 
wife,  Yann  had  battled  hard,  till,  vanquished,  he 
had  opened  his  arms  and  given  himself  up  to  the 
fatal  embraces." 

After  the  tales  of  love,  of  despair,  of  passion, 
Loti,  some  years  ago,  gave  the  readers  of  the 
"  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  under  the  title  "  Un 
Vieux,"  the  most  pathetic  narrative  of  the  sad 
moment  when  the  state  orders  its  old  servants  to 
their  rest.  An  old  sailor  is  sent  to  repose  not 
only  because  he  really  is  old,  but  because  the  state 
has  declared  the  time  has  come  when  he  must  be 


16  PIERRE  LOTI 

so!  Kervella,  the  sailor,  has  been  all  over  the 
world ;  his  frame  is  wiry  and  looks  strong,  yet  he 
is  internally  worn  by  fifty  years'  seafaring. 

"  When  the  day  came  for  the  sailor  to  part 
with  his  life  of  activity  it  was  a  day  like  any 
other,  and  none  of  the  men  seemed  to  notice 
whether  this  faithful  servant  went  or  stopped," 
writes  Loti.  With  a  pang,  at  night  he  put  away 
his  uniform,  shut  up  his  old  tattooed  body  in  a 
black  overcoat,  and,  all  accounts  settled,  the  state 
having  sufficiently  paid  him  for  his  life,  he  walked 
out  of  the  barracks.^ 

Now  indeed  bliss  had  come  to  him  !  there  were 
no  more  dangers,  no  more  duty,  no  more  troubles. 
A  good  bed,  in  a  comfortable  little  house  bought 
with  his  economies,  having  a  view  on  the  port  and 
a  lovely  little  garden  to  care  for,  the  wish  of  all 
his  days  fulfilled  at  last,  —  this  was  happiness! 
Yet  the  tears  kept  washing  his  face,  and  his  heart 
yearned  for  death ! 

On  mild  Brittany  summer  days,  to  give  himself 
the  illusion  of  being  in  the  tropics,  he  put  his 
water  in  a  cooling-bottle,  dressed  himself  in  a 
nankeen  suit,  brought  down  his  parrot,  and  fanned 
himself  with  a  palm-tree  leaf.  Though  he  ap- 
peared to  the  passers-by  as  if  in  sleep,  his  brain 
was  in  reality  living  over  again  all  his  past.  He 
remembered  —  he  remembered  he  had  once  been 
young,  strong,  handsome ;  now  his  limp  arms 
hung  on  both  sides  of  his  long  empty  body,  over- 
spread by  a  net  of  blue  veins  like  a  corpse  over- 
spread by  worms.      He  remembered  he  had  had 

1  In  Brest  some  of  the  men  sleep  in  barracks,  like  soldiers. 


PIERRE  LOT  I  17 

mistresses  ;  he  had  been  longed  for  and  knelt  to. 
Women  had  swooned  under  the  kisses  of  these 
withered,  faded  lips  ;  this  dark  face  or  that  blonde 
one  passed  through  his  mind.  Still  he  regretted 
none.  Love  ?  The  mouths  pouting  of  themselves 
toward  caresses,  the  eternal  charm  drawing  crea- 
tures toward  each  other,  blending  them  in  passion- 
ate embraces  —  all  that  was  gone  !  and  he  cared 
not !  His  food  was  now  his  everything  —  what 
he  would  eat  for  supper.  He  remembered  having 
had  a  wife.  His  married  life  lasted  one  spring. 
All  the  generosities  of  his  heart,  all  the  energies 
of  his  unemployed  fondness,  he  had  showered  upon 
her.  For  her  he  had  become  timid  and  reserved 
as  a  child ;  to  woo  her  he  had  trained  himself  to 
refined  modes  of  courtship  quite  out  of  his  habits. 
Duty  had  called  him  away ;  when  he  returned, 
his  wife  was  living  with  a  rich  old  man,  spending 
all  he  gave  her  upon  fine  clothes.  He  remembered 
having  had  a  daughter,  whom  death  had  robbed 
him  of,  a  certain  May  evening.  The  remembrance 
of  this  child  brought  tears  to  his  eyes.  A  hideous 
little  faded  photograph  of  her  as  a  "  premiere  com- 
municante,"  taper  in  hand,  brought  pangs  to  his 
heart.  Thirty  months  had  he  counted  and  re- 
counted in  that  last  expedition  to  China,  till  he  saw 
her  again.  Scarcely  had  he  reached  the  shore, 
before  he  ran  to  the  woman  who  kept  her.  De- 
positing the  bag  full  of  presents  for  his  child,  he 
flew  up  to  her  room.  She  was  dying.  He  for- 
gave, and  paid  high  prices  for  a  nurse,  who  poi- 
soned her  with  a  drunkard's  care.  There  still 
remained  the  holy  grave ;  so  from  Hong-Kong  he 


18  PIERRE  LOTI 

sent  the  woman  in  Brest  a  big  sum  of  money  to 
get  a  marble  slab  and  an  inscription  to  be  laid 
on  the  grave.  But  the  woman,  having  become 
imbecile,  spent  the  money  for  drink,  and  when 
Kervella  came  back,  his  daughter's  sacred  little 
bones  were  being  jostled  with  others  in  the  "  fosse 
commune."  Years  and  years  had  passed  ;  wounds 
and  feats  of  courage  had  carried  him  to  the  no- 
tice of  an  admiral.  Ambition  helping,  he  became 
master,  the  highest  grade  a  "  man  "  can  ever  at- 
tain to  in  France. 

Thus  he  remembered;  and  now  that  he  had 
come  to  his  rest,  sleep  had  gone.  His  nights  were 
fiUed  with  horror ;  his  body  was  broken  and  de- 
formed ;  the  sea  had  left  him  to  remain  a  solitary 
old  man  whose  tears  fell  unnoticed  by  all.  Why 
had  he  not  died  young?  An  animal  keeps  his 
shape  to  the  last ;  man  alone  is  condemned  to  wea- 
risome old  age  —  derision  of  life  ! 

One  night  in  March,  Death,  who  was  hurrying 
on  to  Brest,  tarried  to  twist  Kervella  on  his  bed, 
turn  his  eyes  inside  out,  and  his  mouth  all  awry. 
Coming  in  the  morning  the  Mere  le  Gall,  his  char- 
woman, said,  "  Tiens,  mon  vieux  est  creve !  " 
Whether  in  Papeete,  or  whether  in  Morocco, 
Loti's  philosophical  sadness  leads  him  to  the  same 
queries  as  Monsieur  de  Vogiie  before  the  Sphinx, 
as  Chateaubriand  before  Jerusalem. 

To  really  thinking  minds  the  Sphinx  is  every- 
where, most  of  all  in  the  mysterious  sufferings 
of  innocence !  Why  shame  to  this  pure  one,  why 
honor  to  this  lower  soul  ?  Why  slavery  to  a  poor 
negro  girl,  born  with  every  instinct   of   modesty 


PIERRE  LOTI  19 

and  dignity  ?  That  is  the  question  Loti  asks  him- 
self at  Fez  in  the  depths  of  Africa. 

" '  The  slave-market  is  low  ?  '  I  asked  the  dealer. 

" '  There  still  remains  to  be  sold  that  negro 
woman  there  in  the  corner,'  answered  he. 

"  A  form  closely  hidden  under  a  gray  veil, 
crouched  on  the  earth,  rose  at  my  bidding.  It  was 
that  of  a  girl  between  sixteen  and  eighteen ;  her 
eyes,  brimming  over  with  tears,  bespoke  infinite  de- 
spair ;  her  mistress  stood  by  her  side,  as  miserable 
as  herself.  Though  much  attached  to  the  girl,  she 
had  to  dismiss  her  for  want  of  money  to  keep  her : 
it  looked  like  the  sale  of  a  child  by  a  mother  !  " 

Fatou-gaye,  the  "  uegrillonne  "  of  the  "  Roman 
d'un  Spahi,"  is  another  excellent  type  of  the 
negro,  in  her  wildness,  and  also  in  her  capacity 
of  feeling  "  black  melancholy."  Fatou-gaye  is 
a  kind  of  Rarahu,  rather  comical  at  first.  "  Her 
head,"  wi'ites  Loti,  "  was  entirely  shaved,  save  five 
rats'  tails  sticking  out,  and  gummed  with  little  bits 
of  coral  hanging  by  their  ends  —  and  one  sequin 
which  served  as  a  kind  of  tonsure."  Setting  apart 
this  grotesque  coiffure,  Fatou-gaye's  face  was  that 
of  an  exquisitely  fine  little  Greek  statue,  with  a 
skin  of  polished  onyx,  wonderfully  white  teeth, 
and  eyes  of  an  excessive  mobility. 

Fatou-gaye  was  a  child  slave  of  the  Spahi's  first 
mistress  ;  her  dress  consisted  only  of  one  row  of 
gris-gris.  One  night  Jean  (the  Spahi)  had  seen 
the  proof  of  his  mistress's  infidelity.  Stunned  with 
grief,  he  had  fallen  at  her  door,  and  risen  again  to 
rush  madly  toward  the  sea.  The  thought  of  his 
body  becoming  the  prey  of  crabs  had  prevented  his 


20  PIERRE  LOTI 

drowning  himself.  Vanquished,  however,  by  fever- 
ish drowsiness,  he  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  burning 
sands,  to  find  himself,  when  he  woke,  protected  by 
a  sort  of  tent.  Fatou-gaye  had  followed  him,  and 
this  tent  was  made  of  her  best  "  pagne."  For  many 
hours  she  had  watched  him  in  a  trance,  covering 
his  brow  with  kisses  as  he  lay  quite  motionless. 
She  would  not  have  minded  much  if  he  had  died, 
for  "  I  would  hold  him  so  fast  in  my  arms," 
thought  she,  "  that  none  could  separate  us."  But 
the  palms  of  Fatou-gaye 's  hands  were  roseate,  and 
Jean  looked  upon  her  as  on  a  kind  of  ape.  To 
Loti,  Fatou-gaye's  hands  are  of  no  consequence ; 
her  heart  is  the  main  object,  and  his  treatment 
of  it  is  masterly. 

Loti's  career  has  far  too  close  a  relation  to  the 
particular  nature  of  his  talent,  and  his  adoration 
of  his  commanders  is  too  illustrative  of  his  profes- 
sional qualities,  for  us  to  omit  quoting  some  pas- 
sages in  his  narrative  of  Admiral  Courbet's  death : 

"  The  admiral  was  to  me  the  incarnation  of  the 
sublime  old  words, '  honor,' '  patriotism,' '  heroism,' 
'  abnegation.'  He  had  evidently  the  secret  of  mak- 
ing himself  loved,  but  he  was  at  the  same  time 
rigid,  inflexible  to  himself  as  to  others.  His  orders 
were  imperative  and  dry.  '  You  have  understood 
me,  my  friend.  Go.'  A  pressure  of  the  hand,  a 
kind  frank  look,  and  with  that  one  went  —  one 
went  anywhere ;  so  long  as  one  obeyed  him,  one 
felt  on  the  right  road.  Here  he  lay  now,  van- 
quished by  the  two  maladies  of  this  yellow  coun- 
try, dysentery  and  hepatitis,  and  at  the  same  time 
heart-sick  at  the  small  echo  his  great  victories  had 


PIERRE  LOT  I  21 

had  in  France.  Death  in  these  extreme  regions 
allowing  of  no  lying  in  state,  the  body  of  the 
admiral  had  been  embalmed,  and,  wrapped  in  his 
shroud,  lay  on  the  red  carpet  of  his  state  cabin. 
After  the  'defile'  came  the  religious  ceremony, 
during  which  time  a  small  bird  obstinately  sang, 
perched  in  the  folds  of  the  flag.  Never  yet  had  I 
seen  sailors  weep  whilst  on  duty.  Here,  however, 
all  those  of  the  piquet  d'honneur  gave  way." 

"VVe  pointed  out  in  the  beginning  of  this  study 
of  Loti  how  much  resemblance  was  to  be  found 
between  certain  characteristics  of  his  style  and 
that  of  Theophile  Gautier.  This  would  in  no 
way  tend  to  lessen  our  author's  individuality.  Al- 
though decidedly  more  poetical,  Loti's  talent  is  not 
as  robust  as  Theophile  Gautier's,  not  as  robust 
either  as  Maupassant's,  or  as  powerful  as  Zola's. 
It  is  of  a  more  psychical  turn,  and  some  of  its 
dreamy  features  may  be  attributed  to  his  sea-life, 
while  its  irony  at  times  seems  almost  an  echo  from 
the  Boulevard.  Loti  is  an  outcome  of  the  Boule- 
vard, such  as  it  was,  in  the  past ;  when  the  peri- 
patecians  Gautier,  Mery,  Gozlan,  and  others  issued 
their  literary  decrees  while  walking  up  and  down 
from  the  Librairie  Nouvelle  to  the  Rue  de  Riche- 
lieu. There  are  no  more  Gautiers,  no  more  Merys, 
no  more  Gozlans;  but  there  remains  a  Loti,  an 
aristocratic-minded  Loti,  who  talks  little,  and  never 
converses  but  with  his  equals,  sufficiently  full  of 
hatred  for  the  "  philister  "  to  express  his  disdain 
as  did  Heine. 

"  Vous  devez  me  trouver  bien  sot  aujourd'hui, 
mon  cher,"  said  Heine  to  one  of  the  collaborateurs 


22  PIERRE  LOTI 

of  the  "  Kevue  des  Deux  Mondes  ;  "  "  c'est  que  je 
viens  '  d'echanger '  mes  ideas  avec  X." 

Loti's  vein  of  irony  is  often  that  of  Heine  ;  it  is 
dry,  cruel  almost,  as  is  shown  by  Kervella's  ad- 
ventures. Heine,  however,  had  known  of  fights  of 
all  kinds,  pecuniary  and  others.  Loti  is  now  rich 
(through  his  marriage),  and  from  the  outset  of 
his  career  he  has  never  known  anything  less  than 
comfort,  which  sufficiently  shows  that  temper  de- 
pends, not  upon  circumstances,  but  upon  temper- 
ament and  personal  disposition.  Melancholy  by 
nature,  and  by  his  almost  Breton  origin,  the  mor- 
bid spirit  of  his  work  is  the  outcome  of  his  own 
feelings. 

Loti's  despair  and  sombreness  are  more  those 
of  satiety  than  those  of  undervalued  literary  efforts, 
as  was  the  case  with  Verlaine.  Elected  to  the 
Academie  FranQaise  while  yet  in  the  full  power 
of  youth,  Loti  reached  almost  at  once  equal  fame 
and  popularity.  His  pessimistic  disposition  is 
therefore,  above  all,  the  natural  outcome  of  the 
Schopenhauerist  atmosphere  which  is  breathed  by 
our  modern  writers  all  over  the  world,  and  much 
more  in  France  than  anywhere  else. 


GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Maupassant  was  born  August  5, 1850.  More  of 
what  is  commonplace  and  ephemeral  about  him  — 
his  successes  and  his  adventures  —  is  known  than 
of  his  intimate  family  life,  so  honorable  and  so  full 
of  filial  devotion.  One  of  his  former  chiefs  (at 
an  early  age  Maupassant  was  a  private  secretary 
in  one  of  the  Ministeres)  said  of  him  :  "  He  has 
never  been  guided  in  his  social  relations  but  by 
tact,  affability,  and  generosity."  Maupassant's 
beginnings  were  modest,  his  official  salary  in  1872 
not  rising  above  1,800  francs  a  year,  but  the  com- 
pensation for  this  was  a  certain  amount  of  leisure, 
enabling  him,  after  office  hours,  to  pursue  his  lit- 
erary labors.  The  difficulties  of  helping  to  main- 
tain a  home  were  great,  notwithstanding  which  his 
respect  for  his  pen  never  swerved,  and  he  waited 
to  make  his  debut  till  his  master  Flaubert  was 
satisfied  with  his  productions.  Flaubert  lived  near 
Eouen,  Maupassant's  family  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Croisset.  From  childhood  the  great  man  had 
watched  over  the  boy's  mind,  setting  him  certain 
themes  to  exert  himself  upon.  "  You  will  go  to 
such  a  street,  where  you  will  see  a  concierge  and 
his  parrot ;  you  will  then  write  down  what  you  saw 
and  read  it  me;"  and  till  Flaubert  pronounced, 
*'  Now  I  see  the  picture,"  Maupassant  had  to  work 
and  destroy.    "  Boule  de  Suif,"  which  appeared  in 


24  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

1878,  was  the  first  outburst  of  a  success  which 
never  waned.  Then  our  author  began  that  life  of 
personal  experience  which  he  joaid  for  so  cruelly. 
It  should  be  remembered,  however,  that  whilst 
common  men  go  uselessly  through  the  same  "  feu 
de  la  vie,"  it  is  the  privilege  of  talent  only  to  turn 
these  games  into  fertile  literary  productions.  Few 
men,  be  it  said  to  Maupassant's  honor,  retain  after 
the  lessons  of  pleasure  the  strong  and  lofty  filial 
sense  of  duty  out  of  which  was  carved  "  Pierre  et 
Jean."  We  shall  return  to  "Pierre  et  Jean" 
later,  when  we  have  first  skimmed  through  some 
of  Maupassant's  short  stories,  where  he  becomes 
unconsciously  a  rival  of  Merimee  and  of  Balzac. 
In  the  volume  entitled  "  Clair  de  Lune,"  La  Reine 
Hortense  exhibits  the  highest  knowledge  on  the 
author's  part  of  that  firmness  of  will  and  digni- 
fied endurance  which  are  so  characteristic  of  the 
Frenchwoman.  At  Rueil  lives  a  tall,  gaunt,  severe 
old  maid.  Her  martial  demeanor  toward  a  herd  of 
divers  animals  over  which  she  reigns  has  brought 
upon  her  the  name  of  Reine  Hortense.  She  falls 
ill,  and  only  through  delirium  does  the  leading 
sorrow  of  her  life  express  itself ;  for  through  un- 
consciousness she  calls  to  a  husband  and  to  a  host 
of  children.  Husband  and  children  are  both  the 
mere  outcomes  of  a  deep-rooted  anguish  and  sor- 
row. Her  life  has  been  one  long  effort  at  disguis- 
ing what  her  secret  wishes  were,  and  now  that  she 
controls  herself  no  longer  this  wish  expresses  itself, 
and  the  horror  of  her  solitary  life  is  made  evident 
by  this  outburst  of  nature.  Solitude  at  heart  has 
been  to  the  miserable  Hortense  the  unbearable 


GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT  25 

burthen,  and  as  she  is  about  to  die  will  and  effort 
have  been  overcome  by  fever.  Nature  has  the 
last  word  above  conventionality. 

In  another  of  Maupassant's  tales  we  find  L'ln- 
firme  just  as  ironical  in  its  conclusions  as  Eeine 
Hortense,  though  far  less  heart-rending,  for  this 
time  the  sacrifice  is  voluntary  and  the  broken- 
hearted man  rises  by  self-denial.  We  see  a  vic- 
tory, not  a  defeat.  L'lnfii-me  is  a  very  perfect 
miniature  of  the  noblest  type  of  the  Frenchman, 
of  that  type  where  strength  is  accompanied  by  out- 
ward gentleness,  and  where  virtue  is  clothed  in 
grace  of  manner  and  personal  charm.  Two  men 
going  to  St.  Germain  get  into  a  railway  carriage. 
One  is  a  magistrate,  the  other  a  retired  army  offi- 
cer. They  had  formerly  been  acquainted,  but  had 
lost  sight  of  each  other.  After  being  woimded, 
the  officer  left  the  service.  He  is  plethoric,  like 
one  who  lacks  proper  exercise.  His  face,  though 
bloated,  still  retains  beauty  through  the  nobility 
of  features  and  expression. 

As  L'Infirme  gets  into  the  carriage  his  valet 
helps  him  to  place  a  number  of  parcels.  "  There 
are  five  parcels,"  says  the  servant,  "  the  bon-bons, 
the  doll,  the  drum,  the  pCde,  the  gun."  Furnished 
with  these  materials,  the  magistrate  builds  up  a 
story.  "  When  I  used  to  know  him,"  thinks  he, 
"he  was  a  fine  man,  a  brilliant  officer,  engaged 
to  Mademoiselle  de  Mandal.  She  has  evidently 
married  him,  spite  of  his  wooden  legs."  On  the 
strength  of  this  story,  the  magistrate  asks  the  offi- 
cer whether  he  is  a  father,  and  gets  his  whole  ficti- 
tious building  blown  up  at  once.    Mademoiselle  de 


26  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Mandal  has  become  Madame  de  Fleurel,  and  is 
not  in  any  way  to  be  coupled  with  L'Infirme.  It 
is  a  wife's  duty  to  live  every  hour  of  her  life  by 
her  mate,  and  L'Infirme  declares  that  his  own  irri- 
tation against  himself  when  he  hears  the  clap  of 
his  sticks  on  the  floor  is  far  too  great  for  him  to 
think  of  getting  a  woman  whom  he  loved  to  share 
life  with  him.  "Any  form  of  sacrifice,"  says 
L'Infirme,  "is  acceptable  for  a  time,  however 
long;  but  it  should  be  for  a  time  only,  not  for 
life."  As  the  men  arrive  at  St.  Germain  the  door 
is  thrown  open,  and,  besieged  by  Monsieur  and 
Madame  de  Fleurel,  and  by  the  Fleurel  children, 
who  encircle  L'Infirme,  it  is  evident  that  the  lover 
of  yore  has  now  become  the  friend.  The  halo  of  ac- 
complished self-sacrifice  is  around  L'Infirme,  mak- 
ing this  tale  one  of  the  most  noble  and  pathetic. 

Turning  to  quite  a  different  note,  we  wiU  sketch 
out  "  Le  Eetour  "  and  "  L'Abandonne,"  two  of 
Maupassant's  deepest  short  stories.  "  Le  Ketour  " 
is  drawn  from  low  life  among  silent  and  unde- 
monstrative peasants.  "  L'Abandonne,"  on  the 
contrary,  is  taken  from  society,  where  words  and 
actions  are  only  the  means  of  concealing  thoughts. 

Madame  de  C.  has  a  "  friend,"  who  some  forty 
years  ago  became  the  father  of  her  son.  Tied 
legally  by  marriage,  Madame  de  C.  cannot  recog- 
nize her  illegitimate  son.  She  wishes,  however, 
to  see  this  son  before  she  dies.  He  was  torn  away 
from  her  on  the  day  of  his  birth.  One  very  hot 
afternoon  Madame  de  C.  goes  with  the  friend  to 
the  farmhouse  where  this  son  of  hers  lives.  The 
farmer's  wife,  une  femme  a  la  figure  de  hois, 


GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT  27 

receives  her  grumbling.  Whilst  she  is  arguing, 
urging  Madame  de  C.  to  take  her  departure,  the 
farmer  passes  by,  his  head  buried  in  his  shoulders, 
dragging  a  cow  behind  him  and  emphasizing  the 
animal's  obstinacy  by  a  tremendous  oath.  Madame 
de  C,  who  from  sheer  exhaustion  has  fallen  upon 
a  seat,  grasps  the  friend's  arm. 

"It  is  7ie,"  says  she,  "it  is  our  son!  Is  that 
what  you  have  made  of  him  ?  Let  us  go  !  Come 
away  ;  I  cannot  bear  this."  "  I  settled  a  farm 
and  80,000  francs  on  him,"  answers  the  friend. 
"  Many  a  legally  born  son  of  a  bourgeois  would 
wish  for  the  same."  And  father  and  mother  both 
rejoin  the  husband,  who  seeing  them  coming,  calls 
out :  "  Well,  my  dear,  ...  I  hope  you  have  had 
a  sunstroke !  "  "  No,  indeed,  a  delightful  walk," 
says  the  friend. 

In  "  Le  Retour  "  the  scene  is  among  peasants, 
whose  impassibility  is  real,  not  feigned ;  for  the 
peasant  not  only  feels  less  acutely  than  educated 
mortals,  but  he  ignores  the  means  of  transmitting 
his  emotions  even  when  he  experiences  them.  He 
is  like  a  substance  without  a  shadow.  If  he  feels 
a  shock  there  is  no  outward  rebound ;  if  he  suffers 
he  knows  not  how  to  depict  his  pain.  His  joys  or 
his  grief  ignore  the  play  which  in  the  educated 
being  is  often  the  unconscious  echo  of  stage  re- 
membrances. Trained  from  her  earliest  infancy 
by  sheer  imitation  of  her  elders  to  put  her  facial 
expression  in  harmony  with  the  sentiments  she 
wishes  to  convey,  the  woman  of  the  world  is  an 
actress  whose  movements  complete  her  thoughts. 

In  "  Le  Retour  "  a  man  named  Martin  is  lost  at 


28  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

sea.  His  widow,  the  mother  of  two  children,  mar- 
ries another  sailor,  by  name  Levesque.  Twenty 
years  elapse,  and  one  day  the  wife  is  tro.,bled  by 
the  persistence  of  a  beggar  at  her  door.  In  the 
evening  Levesque  returns  from  his  day's  work,  and 
speaks  to  the  beggar,  who  turns  out  to  be  no  other 
than  Martin,  the  former  husband.  Both  husbands 
agree  to  go  to  the  cure  ;  no  small  indication  this, 
on  Maupassant's  part,  of  the  great  prestige  still 
held  among  peasants  by  the  priest.  No  less  a 
trait  of  peasant  physiology  is  the  attitude  of  the 
woman,  who  in  point  of  fact  falls  into  the  arms  of 
Martin,  calling  him  "  Mon  cher  homme  !  "  whilst 
at  the  same  time  she  remains  devoted  to  Levesque. 
The  cure  lives  at  the  other  end  of  the  village.  On 
their  way  the  men  enter  the  tavern.  There  both 
husbands  tarry  sufficiently  long  to  agree  that  law- 
suits are  costly,  and  that  the  cure's  decision  might 
lead  to  a  suit.  A  pleasant  state  of  friendship 
between  the  two  husbands  is  therefore  determined 
upon  by  both  men,  and  the  story  closes  with  the 
true  and  characteristic  ejaculation  of  a  peasant 
recognizing  Martin  after  twenty  years  :  "  Tiens, 
c'est  te !  "  (^e  being  the  country  slang  for  toi}. 
That  is  all,  but  coming  from  a  French  peasant  it  is 
enough,  as  it  implies  all  in  the  way  of  queries  and 
wonderment  which  it  withholds. 

Maupassant's  picturesque  narratives  of  Africa 
and  Arab  women  are  no  less  interesting  than  his 
French  stories,  but  as  space  limits  us  to  his  psychi- 
cal studies  above  all,  we  will  end  our  consideration 
of  his  short  tales  with  a  few  words  about  one  of 
his  last,  "  L'Inutile  Beaute."    The  Comte  de  Mas- 


GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT  29 

caret  has  married  a  penniless  and  lovely  girl.  His 
love  for  her  is  of  a  realistic  sort.  From  jealousy 
principally,  and  to  keep  her  at  home,  he  has  made 
of  his  wife  a  slave  to  maternity.  In  the  space  of 
eleven  years  she  has  had  seven  children ;  but  she 
takes  her  revenge.  "  Your  conduct  has  made  me 
hate  you,"  says  she  to  her  husband,  "  and  I  have 
had  my  revenge  against  you.  I  swear  solemnly 
by  the  heads  of  my  children  that  one  of  them 
is  not  yours  —  you  shall  never  know  which !  " 
Mascaret  begins  to  suffer  torture ;  he  neglects 
his  wife ;  his  club  friends  remark  that  he  looks 
like  one  eaten  up  by  a  secret  sorrow.  After  six 
years'  martyrdom,  during  which  he  never  goes 
near  his  children  without  the  horrible  thought 
that  one  of  them  is  not  his  own,  he  entreats  his 
wife  to  take  pity  on  him.  "  For  mercy's  sake,  tell 
me  which  is  not  mine  ?  I  will  swear  to  love  him 
as  the  others."  "I  told  you  a  lie,"  replies  his 
wife  ;  "  I  never  had  a  lover.  I  have  always  been 
faithful  to  you,"  This  only  aggravates  matters, 
as  now  the  husband  is  at  a  loss  to  know  which 
statement  he  can  rely  upon.  The  suffering  he 
undergoes  is  so  evident  that  the  wife  is  touched, 
moved  to  pity,  and  says :  "  I  see  that  you  have 
suffered  enough.  I  assure  you  I  am  now  speaking 
the  truth.  All  these  children  are  yours.  But 
had  I  not  acted  in  this  way,  I  should  by  this  time 
be  the  mother  of  four  more !  Women  are  mem- 
bers of  a  civilized  world,  and  we  decline  to  be 
treated  as  mere  females  to  repeople  society !  " 

As  she  spoke  he  felt  instinctively  that  the  wo- 
man who  thus  addressed  him  was  not  made  solely 


30  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

for  the  sake  of  perpetuating  the  race,  but  that  she 
was  as  well  a  strange,  unfathomable  outcome  of 
all  the  complicated  desires  amassed  through  cen- 
turies; that  she  had  diverged  from  the  primitive 
and  divine  intention  of  her  existence,  and  was  de- 
veloping a  mystic  and  indescribable  beauty,  such 
as  we  dream  of,  surrounded  by  all  the  poetry  and 
ideal  luxury  with  which  civilization  endows  her,  a 
statue  of  flesh,  appealing  to  the  senses  and  yet 
ministering  to  the  mind.  Emotions  filled  the  hus- 
band's breast  far  more  stirring  than  the  old  sim- 
ple form  of  love. 

"  Pierre  et  Jean  "  and  "  Fort  comme  la  Mort " 
are  the  author's  masterpieces.  Let  us  consider 
them  briefly. 

Madame  Roland  has  two  sons :  Pierre,  the 
elder,  a  doctor  ;  Jean,  the  younger,  a  lawyer.  As 
to  Roland,  he  is  a  mild  grotesque,  given  up  ex- 
clusively to  the  seafaring  mania,  and  keeping  a 
boat,  with  one  boatman  as  his  "  crew."  One  fine 
day,  unexpectedly,  Jean  is  advised  that  an  in- 
come of  20,000  francs  a  year  has  been  left  to  him. 
Rejoicings  on  this  account  are  high  in  the  Roland 
family,  till  an  old  druggist  strikes  a  knell  in 
Pierre's  heart.  This  inheritance,  according  to  the 
druggist's  views,  is  so  detrimental  to  Madame  Ro- 
land's past  that  Pierre,  who  worships  his  mother, 
is  brought  to  actual  despair.  Pierre  now  remem- 
bers Monsieur  Marechal,  the  testator,  and  gradu- 
ally becomes  his  mother's  spy.  One  day  when 
Madame  Roland  is  gazing  at  Mar^chal's  miniature 
she  sees  herself  watched  by  Pierre  ;  hence  she 
knows  him  to  be  possessed  of  her  secret.      Pro- 


GUY  BE  MAUPASSANT  31 

gressively  the  relations  between  Pierre  and  Ms 
mother  become  so  strained  that  the  unfortunate 
woman  clings  violently  to  her  younger  son.  The 
very  day  when  Jean  takes  up  his  abode  in  new 
rooms,  where  he  is  to  carry  on  his  legal  practice, 
Pierre,  vmable  to  control  his  sorrow  any  longer, 
tells  Jean  plainly  that  he  is  living  on  the  proceeds 
of  his  mother's  shame.  Madame  Roland,  con- 
cealed in  the  adjoining  room,  hears  everything ; 
she  throws  herself  on  her  younger  son's  bed  and 
swoons.  The  ensuing  scene  between  Madame  Ko- 
land  and  Jean  is  of  the  deepest  pathos.  "  If  you 
cannot  look  upon  your  poor  father  as  my  true,  my 
only  love,  leave  me !  "  Pierre's  reprobation  haunts 
her ;  she  cannot  bear  it. 

Pierre  is  made  to  undergo  nothing  but  trouble, 
whilst  Maupassant  bestows  on  Jean,  the  inferior 
mortal,  every  happiness  that  fortune,  love,  and 
maternal  affection  can  bring.  Pierre  goes  off  as  a 
doctor  on  an  American  steamer.  His  mother  is 
relieved  at  his  departure,  and  none  regret  him  — 
not  even  the  Polish  chemist,  Markrosko,  who,  hav- 
ing counted  upon  him  to  help  his  trade,  only  rages 
against  his  departure.  Pierre's  further  attempt 
to  raise  some  regret  in  a  girl  he  had  once  loved 
merely  brings  him  her  felicitations  for  going  to 
America,  —  "  A  beautiful  country,  as  I  hear." 

Next  to  "  Pierre  et  Jean,"  "  Fort  comme  la 
Mort "  is  certainly  Maupassant's  cJiefd'auvre.  The 
painter  Bertin  has  become  famous  after  painting 
the  portrait  of  Madame  de  Guilleroy,  one  of  the 
leaders  of  Parisian  elegance.  He  falls  in  love 
with  her,  and  struggles  bravely  with  his  passion, 


32  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

whilst  slie  on  lier  side  never  comes  to  the  sit- 
tings but  accompanied  by  her  little  girl.  She 
tries  to  frighten  away  love  by  making  fun  of  it ; 
asks  Bertin  how  his  passion  fares ;  in  fact,  has 
recourse  to  light  gayety,  till  one  day  passion  is 
strongest,  and  .  .  .  when  she  leaves  the  studio 
(having  that  day  been  unable  to  bring  the  child) 
she  feels  her  life  is  given  forever  to  Bertin.  If 
she  ceases  the  sittings  her  husband  will  wonder, 
so  she  bravely  goes  back  the  next  day  and  asks 
Bertin  to  forget.  .  .  .  She  promises  she  will  try  to 
do  so  herself.  The  painter  submits  .  .  .  and  long 
remains  in  the  bonds  of  distant  friendship ;  but 
she  feels  what  he  is  undergoing,  and  enters  with 
him  into  a  liaison  which  never  swerves  one  instant 
on  both  sides  for  above  twelve  years.  Guilleroy 
swears  by  Bertin,  and  Bertin  never  during  these 
years  looks  at  any  other  woman  but  the  comtesse. 
Nanette,  the  little  girl  of  fourteen  years  ago,  is 
now  a  woman.  She  is  presented  and  betrothed, 
and  her  likeness  to  her  mother  is  still  enhanced  by 
her  being  in  mourning,  as  Madame  de  Guilleroy 
had  been  when  she  first  met  Bertin.  When  Na- 
nette stands  under  her  mother's  portrait  it  is  obvi- 
ous to  all  that  she  is  its  model.  Without  analyzing 
his  emotions,  Bertin  strangely  feels  himself  becom- 
ing younger.  At  one  time  he  used  to  suffer  cruelly 
from  his  solitude  at  home.  .  .  .  But  time  has  di- 
minished that  feeling.  Now  all  at  once  he  begins 
to  feel  the  same  again.  He  wishes  she  was  ever 
with  him,  and  that  he  could  always  hear  her  crys- 
talline voice.  (Nanette's  voice  and  her  mother's, 
like  their  faces,  are  easily  mistaken  for  one  an- 


GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT  33 

other.)  Bertin,  seated  in  the  comtesse's  boudoir, 
watches  her  and  Nanette  close  to  each  other  under 
the  lamp-shade,  and  the  thought  of  his  solitude 
becomes  more  and  more  oppressive.  As  he  gazes 
at  Madame  de  Guilleroy  his  heart  is  filled  with 
the  words  of  former  days,  which  he  would  like  to 
utter  now.  He  wishes  she  would  send  the  girl  to 
bed,  for  his  heart  has  suddenly  leapt  back  four- 
teen years,  and  he  wants  to  give  her  fresh  happi- 
ness. 

The  comtesse  is  summoned  unexpectedly  to  the 
country  to  her  mother's  death-bed.  Tears  and  sor- 
row make  her  believe  that  she  has  lost  her  beauty, 
and  she  reaches  such  a  pitch  of  anxiety  on  that  sub- 
ject that,  madly  frightened  at  the  arrival  of  Bertin, 
she  takes  refuge  in  her  house  instead  of  meeting 
him  at  the  train,  for  fear  of  the  indiscretions  of 
broad  daylight.  Once  back  in  Paris,  this  anxiety 
becomes  a  fixed  idea.  She  gazes  and  gazes  at  her- 
self in  the  mirror,  breaking  her  own  heart  over  the 
sad  inspection  of  her  wrinkles.  At  night  she  lies 
awake  ;  rises,  to  begin  again  the  perusal  of  this  sad, 
lovely,  careworn  face,  dreading  that  insomnia  may 
only  add  to  the  havoc.  She  prays,  kneeling  before 
a  crucifix  (a  gift  of  Bertin's),  that  respite  shall  be 
granted.  Many  and  many  women  have  been  al- 
lowed to  remain  long  beautiful.  Why  not  she  as 
well?  With  a  woman's  tact  she  has  discovered 
the  nature  of  Bertin's  sentiments  towards  her 
daughter,  but  she  forgives.  She  even  pities  Ber- 
tin. One  day,  overwhelmed  by  feeling  that  he 
has  grown  old,  and  desperate  because  he  cannot 
get  the  better  of  his  love  for  Nanette,  wounded  to 


34        ^  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

the  quick,  moreover,  by  a  critique  in  tlie  "  Figaro," 
Bertin  puts  an  end  to  his  life,  and  the  comtesse, 
summoned  in  time,  receives  his  last  words. 

This  story  of  a  love  equally  long  and  profound 
on  both  sides  is  dignified  and  interesting.  Though 
Maupassant's  heroes  generally  submit  too  easily  to 
the  call  of  their  nervous  system,  "  Fort  comme  la 
Mort "  gives  no  instance  of  this  habitual  weakness. 

Our  author's  last  book,  "  Notre  Coeur,"  is  the 
story  of  the  moral  rise  and  fall  of  a  lover  whom  a 
coquette  raises  for  a  time  above  mere  pleasure, 
and  who,  deceived  by  his  mistress,  falls  back  to 
Anacreontic  devices.  Why  all  of  a  sudden  society 
should  have  been  so  severe  upon  the  lover  in  "  Notre 
Cceur  "  is  a  matter  of  great  wonderment.  There  is 
a  little  book  called  "  Le  Lys  dans  la  Vallee,"  a  mar- 
velous little  book,  in  which  Balzac  took  up  the 
sketch  of  a  certain  Beaumarchais  and  made  a  por- 
trait out  of  the  mere  outline  of  the  comtesse  (Ma- 
riage  de  Figaro).  In  that  wonderful  little  book 
one  sees  a  highly  respected  man  of  the  world  re- 
sort for  ambition's  sake  to  the  same  source  as  the 
hero  of  "Notre  Cceur."  Felix  de  Vandenesse, 
Balzac's  hero,  is  and  remains,  notwithstanding  his 
failings,  favorably  regarded  by  the  reader ;  why, 
then,  this  great  severity  toward  the  similar  char- 
acter in  "  Notre  Coeur  "  ? 

Who  knows,  after  all  ?  French  morals  are  per- 
haps more  in  the  ascendant  than  is  generally  be- 
lieved ;  but  Maupassant's  art  is  our  purpose,  and 
his  art,  more  than  that  of  any  of  his  contempora- 
ries, is  the  outcome  of  his  own  nature,  of  a  nature 
expressing  the  temperament  of  his  time.     Loti  is 


GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT  35 

the  poet  of  romancers,  Zola  is  the  Darwinist,  Mau- 
passant the  physiologist,  the  man  of  the  amphi- 
theatre, the  surgeon  who,  after  cutting  through  the 
outer  envelope,  carefully  handles  one  nerve  after 
another,  measuring,  studying,  weighing,  appreciat- 
ing the  influence  of  each  upon  the  group,  the  re- 
action of  the  local  phenomena  upon  the  whole 
system.  Like  Bourget,  Maupassant  is  the  "  roman- 
cier-medecin,"  the  man  of  prompt  diagnosis,  the 
real  exponent  of  his  time,  which  is  with  us  the  age 
of  science. 

Maupassant,  in  a  word,  is  the  artist  as  well  as 
the  scientist,  and  his  success  came  to  hira,  accord- 
ing to  Madame  de  Lafayette's  saying,  still  more 
from  "  what  he  is  than  from  what  he  does."  His 
gifts  are  as  abundant  as  his  requirements,  for  "  he 
knows  as  much  as  he  guesses." 

Yet  the  different  appreciation  which  is  given 
by  our  public  to  analogous  facts,  the  disapproval 
to-day  of  ways  of  life  which  were  acceptable  in 
1835,  rather  enhances  the  documental  worth  of 
Maupassant's  tales.  These  become  somewhat  akin 
to  an  average  pulse  of  the  moral  status.  Few  writ- 
ers, also,  have  struck  so  many  different  chords  as 
Maupassant,  passing  from  the  most  talented  pic- 
ture of  the  lowest  moral  surroundings,  as  in  "La 
Maison  Tellier,"  "Une  Vie"  (prohibited  in  the 
railway  library),  "  Bel-Ami,"  "  Les  Soeurs  Ron- 
doli "  (between  1880  and  1886),  to  such  books  as 
"Pierre  et  Jean"  and  "Fort  comme  la  Mort," 
—  real  epics  from  the  point  of  view  of  depth  of 
feeling. 

Flaubert  was  not  the  sole  inspirer  and  master  of 


36  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

Maupassant.  Merimee's  short  tales,  it  is  very  evi- 
dent, also  guided  him.  Though  perhaps  less  ima- 
ginative than  Merimee,  and  more  turned  to  psy- 
chology, Maupassant  has  a  style  which  at  times 
reminds  one  of  Merimee's.  The  majority  of  the 
heroes,  too,  are  the  same  pessimistic,  ironical  per- 
sonalities as  in  Merimee,  though  Maupassant's 
irony  is  perhaps  more  tempered  with  generous  pity 
than  is  the  case  with  the  author  of  "  Carmen." 
We  should  not  forget  either  that  Maupassant,  who 
died  in  1893,  was  taken  in  the  prime  of  his  years ; 
so  that  his  pessimism  was  a  fruit  of  his  own  mood, 
a  result  of  the  atmosphere  which  he  breathed, 
rather  than,  as  with  Merimee,  the  outcome  of  dis- 
illusion and  of  the  tedious  monotony  of  things  and 
of  life  generally. 


ZOLA  AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST 

To  attempt  in  the  space  of  a  short  article  a 
general  sketch  of  the  work  of  any  writer  of  ro- 
mance is  always  somewhat  of  an  impertinence ; 
yet  more  so  when  the  object  of  the  sketch  is 
Zola,  the  man  of  his  time  who  has  evolved  in  his 
books  the  greatest  number  of  original  ideas,  the 
man  who  has  combined  in  the  highest  degree  the 
elements  of  saturation  and  radiation. 

No  personages  are  to  a  greater  degree  than 
Zola's  creations  the  outcome  of  the  organic  forces, 
climate,  temperature,  and  soil ;  that  is,  the  out- 
come of  surroundings  and  heredity.  No  person- 
ages, either,  surpass  those  of  Zola  in  offering  to 
organic  forces  their  own  personal  intellectual  and 
emotional  energies  ;  man  receiving  and  man  giv- 
ing ;  human  vibration,  which  answers  in  direct 
proportion  to  the  calls  made  upon  it. 

Such  is  the  particular  side  of  Zola's  work  which, 
to  our  mind,  leads  this  work  straight  to  evolution, 
Darwinism,  Spencerism.  This  is  the  feature  of 
Zola's  literary  temperament,  leading  him  to  the 
scientific  conclusions  which  are  the  basis  of  these 


"  The  Paradoux  till  then  had  only  been  visited 
by  the  sun ;  the  love  of  Serge  and  Albine  first 
infused  life  into  the  Paradoux  !  "  he  says  in  "  La 
Faute  de  I'Abbe  Mouret."     Further  on:  "The 


38  ZOLA  AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST 

birds,  the  trees,  tlie  very  frogs  paid  homage  to  the 
lovers.  This  was  their  kingdom  —  the  Eden  where 
they  reigned  supreme  !  " 

Here  are  the  processes  of  organic  fecundation 
merging  into  life.  Flowers,  atmosphere,  the  natu- 
ral calling  of  all  forces  to  each  other  here  cul- 
minated in  the  love  of  the  two  children  of  Eden 
united  in  the  Paradoux.  The  desert  has  in  re- 
turn received  from  them  by  radiation  the  gift  of 
life.  Thus  is  the  parable  complete  ;  no  less  com- 
plete than  the  blending  together  of  all  the  essences, 
psychical  as  well  as  physiological ;  in  fact,  biology 
applied  instead  of  theoretic.  If,  in  the  effort  of 
finding  out,  as  Descartes  says,  "  where  a  thought 
is  lodged  in  its  author,"  I  ask  myself,  What  is  in 
reality  Zola's  own  intellectual  climate  and  tempera- 
ture ?  I  am  at  once  struck  by  the  very  complexity 
of  the  scientific  atmosphere  in  which  our  author 
lives,  —  an  ambient  complexity  of  atmosphere  so 
very  oppressive  that  we  cannot  help  feeling  the 
results  of  it  in  his  books. 

Though  Zola's  books  differ  in  the  quality  of  the 
human  weaknesses  he  satirizes,  they  are  alike  in 
their  physiological  essence.  All  of  them  tend 
more  or  less  to  the  outburst,  in  each  member  of 
the  one  Rougon  Macquart  family,  of  some  particu- 
lar manifestation  of  wantonness,  avarice,  or  mad 
vanity.  Psychical  or  physiological  shall  be  the 
manifestation,  but  it  shall  take  place.  From  1870 
to  1880,  from  the  "  Rougon  Macquart,"  on  through 
the  "  Conquete  de  Plassans,"  the  "  Curee,"  and 
"  L'Abbe  Mouret,"  to  the  "  Bonheur  des  Dames," 
— where  at  last  noble  Denise  is  born,  a  Rose  among 


ZOLA  AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST  39 

all  these  Thistles,  —  nothing  buds  upon  these  hu- 
man plants  but  sin  and  brutality.  In  1893  "  Doc- 
teur  Pascal"  expresses  the  bodily  weaknesses  of  the 
whole  race.  He  is  neither  unscrupulous  like  the 
Rougons  of  the  "  Cur^e,"  nor  ungovernably  ambi- 
tious or  licentious.  His  bodily  health,  not  his  soul, 
is  compromised,  and  disease  under  the  form  of  tu- 
berculosis does  away  with  all  his  fighting  powers. 

Son  of  an  Italian  engineer,  the  builder  of  "  Pont 
Zola  "  at  Aix,  Emile  Zola,  who  was  born  in  Paris 
in  1840,  when  Louis  Philippe  was  on  the  throne, 
began  his  literary  life  in  journalism.  He  was  the 
press  intermediary  between  Hachette  and  all  the 
Paris  papers  :  hence  his  work  on  the  "  Globe," 
the  "  Temps,"  the  "  Petit  Journal."  The  influence 
of  this  early  work  has  prompted  him  constantly  dur- 
ing the  last  five  or  six  years  to  mix  himself  up  with 
politics  and  public  matters,  accusing  or  absolving 
in  a  way  which,  to  say  the  least,  is  rather  indiscreet. 

His  rate  of  work  has  been  about  six  hundred 
pages  a  year  for  the  last  quarter  of  a  century. 
This  implies  little  enough  leisure  for  judging  men 
and  things  in  a  general  way.  In  1893  "La  De- 
bacle "  showed  us  what  the  same  virtueless  people 
were  capable  and  incapable  of  in  front  of  the  foe. 
His  last  books,  "  Rome "  and  "  Paris,"  have  not 
added  to  his  literary  status.  As  a  quarter  of  a 
century  rarely  sees  the  same  public  turned  to  the 
same  literary  appetites,  it  may  be  added  that  the 
readers  of  to-day  incline  more  toward  delicate 
satirists  of  the  quality  of  Lemaitre,  or  of  France, 
than  toward  descriptive  and  even  sometimes  prolix 
naturalism.     It  may  be  said  also  that  Zola's  effer- 


40  ZOLA  AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST 

vescent  zeal  to  get  into  the  Academy  —  trying  use- 
lessly for  the  seats  of  John  Lemoyne,  Marmier,  and 
Kenan  —  has  considerably  hurt  those  who  loved  to 
see  in  him  one  of  those  literary  artists  too  proud 
ever  to  be  vain. 

Mentioning  Zola  in  his  "  Contemporains,"  Jules 
Lemaitre  has  certainly  struck  with  his  ordinary 
skill  one  of  the  truest  notes  of  his  talent,  in  say- 
ing, "  Zola  is  no  critic  ;  no  more  is  he,  as  he  insists 
upon  being,  a  naturalistic  romancer.  He  is  a  pes- 
simistic poet ;  a  poet  because  with  a  view  to  his 
description,  whatever  it  be,  he  transforms  realities 
and  modifies  them  for  the  benefit  of  the  amplifica- 
tions of  his  story.  Compare  him  with  the  author 
of  the  '  Nabab: '  the  naturalist  is  Daudet  far  rather 
than  the  author  of  '  L'Assommoir,'  which  implies 
that  Zola's  paintings  are,  perhaps,  all  the  stronger, 
because  they  are  bigger  than  the  human  size." 

Though  a  man  may  differ  in  his  own  private 
thoughts  from  the  general  psychical  atmosphere  of 
his  time,  his  genius  or  talent  will  seldom  fail  to  be 
coherent  with  the  period  in  which  it  has  developed. 
No  one  could  imagine  Dr.  Johnson  at  the  court  of 
Charles  II.,  or  Voltaire  in  the  same  salons  as  the 
Bishop  of  Meaux.  Returning  to  the  apparently 
sweeping  proposition  above  expressed,  that  our 
present  period  in  France  is,  scientifically  speaking, 
one  of  great  complexity,  we  may  illustrate  this  by 
the  fact  that  one  of  the  leading  men  of  the  day  in 
French  physiology,  Dr.  Charles  Richet,i  is  at  the 

1  Dr.  Charles  Richet  is  Professor  of  Physiology  at  the 
Ecole  de  M^decine.  He  has  organized  in  France  the  first 
serious  scientific  researches  and  inquiries  on  the  subject  of 
psychology. 


ZOLA  AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST  41 

same  time  tlie  leader  of  all  psychical  researches  in 
the  same  country.  What  such  a  double  power  of 
brain  says  for  the  man  who  possesses  it,  we  are  not 
called  upon  to  consider  here.  Dr.  Charles  Eichet, 
though  the  youngest  of  illustrious  French  scientists, 
is  as  well  kno\^^l  to  the  English  public  and  as 
highly  thought  of  in  England  as  in  France.  The 
object  of  our  remark  here  is  simply  that  a  time 
when  the  same  mind  can  on  the  one  hand  lead 
other  minds  to  the  precise  conclusions  of  the 
"  Anatomical  Table,"  and  on  the  other  hand  simul- 
taneously lead  these  minds,  and  others  with  them, 
into  the  realm  of  psychical  speculations  ;  that  a 
time  when  powers  so  diverse  can  lead  to  success- 
ful efforts  toward  knowledge,  is  necessarily  to  be 
termed  a  complex  period.  Thus  can  we  say  that, 
if  1789  was  the  epoch  for  lawyers,  1889  was  the 
period  for  doctors,  scientists,  and  biologists.  Hence 
the  medical  psychology  of  Bourget,  the  scientific 
physiology  of  Maupassant,  the  psychical  physiology 
of  Zola. 

This  first  point  conceded,  namely,  that  Zola  is  a 
physiologist  above  all  because  he  submits  without 
rebellion  to  the  pressure  of  his  time  and  surround- 
ings, we  will  proceed  to  add  the  following :  From 
physiology  to  chemistry,  that  is,  from  the  study  of 
man's  organs  to  the  study  of  his  fluids,  and  of  the 
way  in  which  these  organic  fluids  combine  with  the 
atmospheric  fluids  ;  from  the  theory  of  the  dissi- 
pation of  energy  in  man  to  sheer  naturalism,  and 
from  sheer  naturalism  to  mythology,  there  is  but 
the  distance  measured  by  Zola's  power  of  imagina- 
tion. 


42  ZOLA  AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST 

Mythologist,  have  we  said  ?  Yes,  mythologlst 
through  the  pressure  of  physiology  and  biology, 
and  evolutionist  through  the  latent  unconscious 
Spencerism  which  fills  the  atmosphere  of  these 
days ;  mythologist  by  the  enforcement  on  his  per- 
sonages of  those  penalties,  after  the  defeat  of  will 
and  the  triumph  of  the  lower  seK,  which  pagan 
antiquity  reserved  for  its  victims. 

Earth  with  Zola  —  the  earth  earthy  —  is  so  far 
the  foe  of  all  that  is  elevated,  the  cause  of  all 
failure,  that  not  only  in  "  La  Terre,"  but  in  num- 
bers of  other  instances,  we  see  the  soil  and  its 
fluids  play  the  part  of  the  vanquisher,  and  wreck 
the  higher  promptings  of  the  soul. 

"Zepphrin  hesitait  encore,  mais  de  chaudes 
bouffees  de  terre  d'automne  fraichement  remuee 
le  griserent,  il  s'enhardit,"  he  says  in  "  Une  Page 
d' Amour."  And  in  another  passage  :  "  Elle  avait 
son  visage  dur  de  femme  jalouse,  car  la  mort 
venait,  la  terre  montait  a  elle  pour  la  reprendre." 
This  idea  of  sending  back  to  the  lower  elements 
the  man  in  whom  the  divine  element  is  blurred  ; 
this  idea,  curiously  enough,  in  its  outer  mythologi- 
cal "  allure  "  has  merged  into  the  "  pulvere  rever- 
teris"  of  Catholic  orthodoxy,  —  an  orthodoxy  to 
which  earth,  the  soil,  is  death,  corruption,  the  very 
reverse  of  Cybele,  the  fecund  deity  of  the  Greeks. 
Above  ideas  stand  habits,  customs,  for  customs 
order  the  doings  of  man,  whilst  ideas  only  inspire 
them.  Physiology  has  now  entered  the  French 
mode  of  thought.  She  keeps  as  close  company 
with  all  the  writers  of  our  day  as  did  philosophy 
with  those  of  the  eighteenth  century.     High  pres- 


ZOLA   AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST  43 

sure  and  overwork  have  forced  physiology  down 
from  her  former  exalted  position,  in  which  she  was 
to  be  approached  only  by  the  initiated  ;  and  though 
I  will  not  venture  to  affirm  that  all  writers  of  fic- 
tion in  France  read  Huxley,  I  can  safely  say  that 
they  all  discuss  him,  and  are  well  acquainted  with 
the  substance  of  his  teachings.  The  close  contact 
brought  about  in  our  time  between  writers  and 
doctors,  owing  to  nervous  exhaustion  and  hard 
work,  has  been  the  origin  of  all  the  contagion  of 
physiology  among  laymen  — among  novel-writers 
above  all.  If  we  once  concede  the  force  of  the  evi- 
dence of  the  dominance  of  physiology  in  modern 
literature,  we  concede  also  the  preeminence  of  the 
laws  of  atavism  in  the  same  field,  the  very  basis 
of  Zola's  work.  Balzac,  in  fiction,  had  invoked 
atavism  long  before  Zola,  —  no  need  to  discuss 
that,  —  but  Balzac  had  introduced  atavism  as  a 
means  conducive  to  the  interest  of  his  stories. 
He  never  used  atavism  like  the  scientific  biologist, 
as  a  demonstration  of  truths  which  till  the  present 
day  have  belonged  only  to  science.  Balzac  was 
a  novelist,  —  the  greatest  creative  genius  of  his 
day,  —  but  not  a  scientist. 

Balzac  would  create  a  Madame  Marneffe,  and 
provided  she  stood  the  test  of  the  events  which 
she  had  to  go  through,  provided  she  was  suffi- 
ciently supple  and  grasping,  Balzac  and  his  reader 
were  satisfied.  Who  in  those  days  would  care  to 
ascertain  the  temperature  of  Madame  Marneffe's 
blood,  or  whether  she  was  nervous,  or  "  nervo- 
sanguine,"  etc.  ?  But  now  we  are  the  servants  of 
science  —  of  physiology  above  all.     Atavism  is  in 


44  ZOLA  AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST 

itself  no  novelty;  tlie  Greek  drama  lived  on  it, 
and  Shakespeare  as  well.  The  only  novelty  lies  in 
the  way  in  which  atavism  is  handled  by  our  author ; 
in  the  application  to  creations  of  the  imagination 
of  the  facts  of  experimental  physiology;  in  fact, 
in  the  tracing  out,  with  the  help  of  physiology,  of 
the  origin  of  creatures  of  fiction  in  the  same  way 
as  Michelet  would  apply  the  science  to  the  study 
of  a  great  figure  in  history.  To  accuse  Zola  of 
being  immoral  because  the  effort  of  will  in  such 
creatures  as  Nana  or  Lantier  is  inferior  to  the 
power  of  the  appetites,  is  as  unjust,  relatively,  as 
it  would  be  to  accuse  Michelet  of  partiality  when 
he  shows  the  assassination  of  Henri  IV.  as  a  re- 
sult of  Marie  de  Medici's  lymphatic  sensualism. 
Whether  fiction  or  history,  truth  is  truth,  and  if 
the  development  of  atavism  is  the  basis  of  the 
study  of  a  human  character,  this  delineation  of 
character  must  be  faithful  to  the  promptings 
shown  by  physiology  as  the  determining  motives 
of  the  character  under  consideration. 

Still,  to  be  a  physiologist  or  a  biologist,  as  Zola 
shows  himself  in  many  of  his  writings,  in  no  way 
implies  that  he  is  also  a  materialist  (a  word  now 
rather  meaningless,  as  positivism  is  the  keynote 
of  modern  scientific  philosophy).  In  France,  the 
materialist,  if  there  be  any,  should  evidently  be  as 
indifferent  to  the  evolutions  of  man's  soul  (what- 
soever they  were)  as  to  natural  phenomena  of  any 
kind.  Moral  hurricanes,  or  cyclones,  should  not 
have  the  power  of  stirring  the  true  materialist  to 
anger ;  the  very  fact  of  his  being  a  sincere  mate- 
rialist would  as  its  first  result  make  him  satisfied 


ZOLA  AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST  45 

with  all  nature's  solutions,  and  render  him  averse 
to  any  possible  amelioration.  Now,  Zola's  han- 
dling of  his  characters  is  so  far  from  betraying 
indifference  that  his  anger  at  their  frailty  and 
weakness  amounts  to  hatred,  and  he  never  treats 
of  their  misdemeanors  otherwise  than  in  scorn  and 
in  wi'ath. 

Keal,  thorough  Materialism  is,  therefore,  as  rare 
at  the  present  time  in  France  as  genuine  Atheism. 
The  true  materialists  were  the  men  of  forty  years 
ago,  —  Broca,  Trousseau,  Davesne,  all  of  them 
more  or  less  pupils  of  Cabanis  and  Condillac,  who 
were  in  turn,  philosophically  speaking,  grandsons 
of  Locke.  And  even  these  were  sensualists,  not 
materialists  proper ;  they  adhered  to  the  doctrines 
of  sensation  in  Locke  and  Condillac,  dead  and 
exploded  systems  since  Darwin's  appearance :  for 
Darwinism  teaches  evolution,  that  is,  immortal 
movement  and  life  persistent,  whilst,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  theory  of  mere  sensation  leads  to  death, 
to  death  coincident  with  the  extinction  of  the 
body. 

All  modern  science  in  France  indorses  Littre's 
proposition  :  "  Life  properly  so-called  escapes  all 
man's  efforts  at  classification  or  researches ;  it  can- 
not be  reduced  to  any  chemical  or  physical  laws." 
Littre  is  a  positivist,  and  the  day  is  gone  when 
Descartes  could  affirm  that  the  soul  lay  hidden 
under  "  the  ninth  lobe  of  the  brain,"  as  the  day  is 
also  gone  when  it  could  be  asserted  that  life  is 
matter,  and  matter  alone  ! 

Forces,  the  combinations  of  forces  intellectual, 
moral,  psychical,  and  physiological,  these  are  the 


46  ZOLA  AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST 

pillars  on  whicli  now  rests  the  theoretic  philosophy 
of  French  scientists.  Above  all,  in  questions 
which  pass  from  physics  into  metaphysics  the  pre- 
sent generation  is  eclectic  and  decidedly  opposed 
to  dogmatism.  Scientifically  speaking,  we  have 
tried  to  show  that  Zola  is  no  materialist;  it  re- 
mains for  us  to  try  to  sketch  his  methods  in  the 
field  of  morals.  If  in  relation  to  science  Zola 
keeps  pace  with  the  age  and  with  his  surround- 
ings by  his  treatment  of  the  duality  in  man,  we 
may  well  say  that  in  regard  to  morals  Zola  goes 
back  to  very  simple  divisions  and  to  very  old 
devices,  —  so  old  in  reality  as  not  to  differ  much 
from  those  of  the  twelfth  century.  The  Dragon 
and  St.  Michael  at  war  together  within  the  same 
being,  this  was  the  mediaeval  conception  of  man ; 
it  is  also  at  times  that  of  Zola.  St.  Michael  kills 
the  Dragon  when  the  personage  is  Angelique  or 
Albine ;  the  Dragon  devours  the  soul  when  the 
personage  is  Lantier,  Nana,  or  others  of  the  same 
weakened  nature. 

Symbolism  and  allegory  underlie  many  of  Zola's 
works  ;  especially  is  this  the  case  in  "  La  Faute  de 
I'Abbe  Mouret,"  where  the  symbol  of  paradise  is 
not  the  only  basis  of  the  theme,  but  where  a  sec- 
ondary personage,  a  side  figure,  Desiree  Mouret, 
is  a  most  eloquent  symbol  of  moral  nullity.  De- 
siree is  the  living  demonstration  that  brain-life, 
even  to  our  realistic  master,  is  really  life  ^:)ar'  ex- 
cellence. Beautiful,  healthy,  with  every  physical 
gift  in  exquisite  proportion,  Desiree  Mouret,  the 
Abbe's  sister,  is  a  psychical  nullity.  No  thought 
stirs  her  soul ;  her  mind  is  torpid.     She  is  a  very 


ZOLA  AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST  47 

statue  of  Condillac.i  Zola  has  not  described  Desi- 
ree  as  in  active  opposition  to  intellect,  but  as 
simply,  naturally  null  in  ber  mind  and  will,  and 
therefore  through  that  very  nullity  assimilated  to 
the  inferior  creatures  who  court  her,  and  associate 
with  her,  feeling  her  to  be  very  nearly  akin  to 
themselves.  The  mere  fact  of  her  nullity  makes 
Desiree  no  more  than  a  statue  to  all  irrational 
beings.  Birds  perch  upon  her,  animals  brush  up 
against  her ;  she  is  the  type  of  form,  and  of  form 
only. 

The  philosophical  scheme  of  Zola  in  his  general 
work  (admitting  that  he  is  conscious  of  having 
such  a  scheme)  is  worked  out  by  his  personages 
rather  than  theorized  on  by  himself.  The  objec- 
tion to  this  has  been  its  unreality.  Our  vices,  it 
has  been  objected,  are  not  the  sole  guides  of  our 
conduct,  and  to  depict  human  nature  from  its  evil 
aspects  only,  is  not  to  represent  it  fairly.  The 
answer  is  that  Zola  depicts  what  appeals  to  his 
particular  genius,  and  that  this  genius  is  neither 
that  of  Berquin  nor  that  of  Florian.  Genius  ap- 
plies itself  to  its  particular  calling ;  no  one  finds 
fault  with  Rosa  Bonheur  for  choosing  animals 
rather  than  historical  subjects.  Why,  then,  blame 
Zola  for  the  view  he  takes  of  humanity?  He 
paints  what  he  sees,  and  provided  the  picture  be 
living  and  talented  we  should  say  with  Voltaire, 
"  There  are  no  bad  books ;  there  are  only  books 

^  Conclillac's  "  thdorie  de  la  sensation  "  is  demonstrated  by 
his  illustration  of  tlie  statue,  where,  taking  an  automatic 
figure,  he  shows  how  moral  life  and  thought  penetrate  it 
progressively  by  means  of  the  senses. 


48  ZOLA  AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST 

badly  conceived  and  badly  expressed,  and  also  bad 
readers."  Novels  and  romances  are  not  copies  of 
real  life,  but  rather  translations  —  interpretations 
of  life.  To  interpret  a  life  for  tbe  public  benefit 
is  to  draw  from  it  its  proper  meaning.  To  write 
a  novel  or  a  play  is  to  set  forth  the  meaning  of 
a  character  in  one  or  at  most  two  of  its  phases, 
phases  which  in  the  novel  must  necessarily  be  suc- 
cessive, for  the  sake  of  the  reader's  comprehension, 
whilst  in  life  they  would  be  simultaneous.  The 
novel  can  depict  the  human  heart  only  as  the 
painter  depicts  the  human  form,  in  one  of  its 
phases  at  a  time.  The  painter  decides  upon  a 
three  quarters  view  or  a  profile,  and,  once  fixed 
upon,  this  will  go  down  to  posterity  as  a  portrait, 
whilst  instead  of  being  properly  a  portrait  of  the 
whole  person,  it  is  but  a  likeness  of  one  side  of 
his  appearance.  Novels  are  the  same ;  they  can 
convey  only  fragmentary  aspects  of  the  human 
soul ;  therefore  the  novelist  must  choose,  and 
though  his  talent  may  lead  him  to  mingle  corrup- 
tion and  innocence  as  exquisitely  as  I'Abbe  Pre  volt 
in  "  Manon  Lescault,"  his  art  will  ever  force  him, 
like  Balzac,  to  portray  a  certain  type  of  woman 
under  the  name  of  Madame  Marneffe,  and  another 
type  under  the  name  of  Eugenie  Grandet.  The 
least  educated  and  cultivated  beings  are  the  least 
complex.  In  the  scale  of  humanity  a  peasant  is 
necessarily  less  complex  than  a  city  workman,  and  a 
city  workman  less  complex  than  a  thinker.  Hence 
Zola's  taste  for  taking  his  types  so  frequently  from 
the  people,  as  they  are  simpler  and  less  disguised 
than  their  superiors.     As  to  the  question  of  strict 


ZOLA  AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST  49 

morality  in  literary  fiction,  it  is  difficult  for  this 
not  to  become  a  question  of  relativeness ;  otherwise 
what  would  become  of  all  the  classics  ?  Paganism 
is  not  an  answer,  for  paganism  had  its  stoics  and 
its  mystics,  —  Marcus  Aurelius,  Plato,  and  others, 
—  as  Christianity  has  its  sensualists,  its  epicures. 

The  first  care  of  a  book-writer  is,  therefore,  the 
literary  and  philosophical  excellence  of  his  book. 
The  writer  is  the  baker :  his  business  is  the  quality 
of  the  bread,  not  the  results  of  digestion.  Pro- 
vided the  bread  be  nutritious  and  the  book  sugges- 
tive and  true,  —  in  fact,  of  a  kind  to  arouse  and 
promote  thought  in  the  reader,  —  the  mission  of 
the  writer  is  accomplished.  Heroic  tales  may  gen- 
erate heroic  deeds,  but  the  processes  of  the  mind 
are  diverse  and  incalculable  ;  it  is  almost  impossi- 
ble to  declare  from  the  nature  of  the  seed  what 
■will  result  as  flower  or  fruit. 

A  thought  is  a  shell ;  it  may  burst  before  reach- 
ing its  aim.  Hence  good  deeds  may  spring  from 
indifferent  soils ;  the  chemical  combinations  in  the 
realm  of  psychology,  from  which  spring  actions 
good  or  bad,  are  far  too  intricate  and  too  personal 
to  the  beings  themselves  ever  to  be  laid  to  the 
responsibility  of  any  author.  Thoughts  may  turn 
to  good  whose  first  origins  were  just  the  reverse, 
and  vice  versa.  It  is  therefore  moral  and  worthy 
to  sow  good  seed ;  but  it  is  unjust  to  charge  one 
or  two  writers  of  genius  with  the  laxity  of  morals 
which  exists  in  their  time.  Besides,  of  perversity 
there  is  no  trace  to  be  found  in  Zola's  work,  though 
the  same  work  is  undeniably  interspersed  with  very 
grossly  naturalistic  details. 


50  ZOLA  AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST 

To  return  to  the  tendencies  of  Zola  to  symbolism, 
wMch  are  so  very  evident  in  some  of  his  books, 
and  which  lead  him  to  deep  poetical  feeling,  no 
passage  is  more  eloquent  in  this  respect  than 
chapter  xiii.  in  "  La  Faute  de  I'Abbe  Mouret." 
A  more  perfect  combination  of  modern  color  and 
archaism  than  the  landscape  of  the  Edenic  gar- 
den of  Paradoux  has  never  been  produced.  Some- 
thing in  the  landscape  is  very  much  like  the  work 
of  Turner's  brush,  modified  by  a  touch  of  Gustave 
Moreau,  and  peopled  with  figures  drawn  by  Burne 
Jones.  Nowhere,  perhaps,  in  all  Zola's  work  does 
Love,  the  god,  play  such  a  divine  part  as  in  the 
Paradoux,  spreading  his  rays  of  life  on  dead  na- 
ture all  around  him,  whilst  nature  in  turn  bends 
in  humble  obeisance  before  him  !  Love,  it  will  be 
said,  is  not  the  only  subject  for  the  novelist.  Cer- 
tainly not ;  and  Zola,  above  all  others,  takes  that 
view,  since  ambition,  cupidity,  revenge,  are  por- 
trayed in  his  different  works. 

No,  love  is  not  the  only  passion,  certainly,  with 
which  the  novelist  has  to  deal,  but  it  is  the  j)assion 
of  all  others  which  finds  most  favor  amongst 
readers,  for  it  is  the  one  passion  above  all  that  has 
power  of  life  and  death. 

To  write  truly  upon  this  subject  it  is  of  first 
importance  to  analyze  love,  relegating  to  the  ani- 
mal side  of  nature  what  belongs  to  it,  but  never 
forgetting  that  love,  like  death  and  like  life,  es- 
capes all  man's  curiosity,  and  that  its  origin  and 
its  end  are  alike  hid  from  his  inquisitive  eye.  Its 
birth  is  divine,  its  death  enveloped  in  mystery. 
According  to  these  laws  it  is  well  for  Zola  to  paint 


ZOLA  AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST  51 

such  beings  as  Albine  and  Angelique,  but  they 
present  humanity  under  only  one  aspect,  and  he 
deals  with  all  aspects.  Besides,  Zola's  supreme 
merit  is  to  show  the  evolution  of  passions,  to  im- 
personate rather  than  to  discuss  them. 

Although  our  author  has  not  the  highly-strung 
perception  of  the  pathos  of  love  which  Loti  pos- 
sesses, he  has  a  greater  diversity  of  gifts  than  any 
of  his  contemporaries.  Poetry,  science,  the  know- 
ledge of  all  characteristics,  and  thoroughness  in 
whatever  he  touches  are  his,  and  so  much  his  own 
that  to  find  one  equally  gifted  we  could  cite  Tolstoi 
alone. 

To  return,  in  closing  these  remarks,  to  their  origi- 
nal subject,  evolution,  we  would  say  that  Tolstoi, 
Ibsen,  and  Zola  have  been  the  missionaries  of  the 
doctrines  of  Darwin  and  Spencer,  applying  the 
theory  of  evolution  throughout  their  books  under 
the  form  of  atavism  or  heredity.  Zola  does  not 
hint,  like  Tolstoi,  at  the  question  of  psychical  evolu- 
tion. Zola  keeps  to  the  physiological  side  of  he- 
redity. He  watches  the  working  of  the  germ  in  the 
being,  its  growth,  expansion,  decay,  and  re-birth ; 
in  fact,  Zola  keeps  fast  to  the  law  of  life  and  its 
eternal  transmutability,  a  doctrine  entirely  modern 
and  in  every  way  antagonistic  and  opposed  to  the 
teachings  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

One  of  the  best  examples  of  the  re-birth  of  force 
springing  from  decay  is  given  by  Angelique  in 
"  Le  Reve."  The  mother  is  as  perverted  in  her 
mind  as  she  is  corrupt  in  her  person,  perversion 
and  corruption  neutralizing  each  other.  A  lily 
rises  from  the  mire,  and  Angelique  is  the  fresh 


62  ZOLA  AS  AN  EVOLUTIONIST 

plant  of  a  thoroughly  exhausted  stem.  She  is  life 
springing  out  of  death,  sunshine  arising  in  dark- 
ness. 

Ibsen's  conclusions  are  the  more  desperate ; 
Tolstoi's  conclusions  the  more  cruel ;  Zola's  conclu- 
sions the  more  brutal.  Immoral,  philosophically 
speaking,  they  are  not.  For  the  "  Kreuzer  Sonata," 
"  Nana,"  "  L'Assommoir,"  or  "  Ghosts  "  are  none  of 
them  the  apology,  but  the  dire  and  bitter  condem- 
nation, of  vice.  The  philosophical  side  of  a  book, 
however,  belongs  but  to  the  few ;  the  majority  do 
not  rise  above  the  story.  When  the  story  is  hor- 
ror-striking or  revolting,  the  reader  turns  away, 
going  no  farther.  But  what  then  ?  Is  the  natu- 
ralism of  the  writer  too  forcible,  or  is  the  reader 
not  strong  enough  to  bear  the  truth  ? 

"  L'homme  est  un  compose  de  matiere  et 
d'esprit.  II  ignore  la  matiere,  il  ignore  I'esprit,  il 
ignore  le  bien  qui  reunit  la  matiere  avec  I'esprit ; 
et  c'est  la  tout  l'homme  !  "  says  Pascal. 

Why  not,  then,  with  Voltaire  lay  the  fault  at 
the  door  of  the  "  bad  reader  "  ?  The  reader,  how- 
ever, departs  scatheless  ;  the  writer  remains  to  bear 
the  burden.  Writers  of  Zola's  power  survive  the 
shock  ;  this  is  their  revenge. 


EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT 


The  last  letter  addressed  by  Edmond  de  Gon- 
court  to  Madame  Alphonse  Daudet,  in  which  he 
asked  her  to  receive  him  on  a  private  visit,  without 
any  friends,  —  this  last  letter,  after  twenty  years' 
friendship,  is  not  much  more  familiar  than  the 
one  written  in  1881,  in  which  the  same  Goncourt 
announced  to  the  young  household  ("  le  petit 
menage  "),  as  he  called  the  Daudets,  that  soon 
"Renee  Mauperin"  would  be  copied,  and  that 
friend  Ceard  woidd  ask  them  to  fix  an  evening 
for  him  to  read  it  to  them.  Then  foUowed  these 
words,  addressed  especially  to  Madame  Daudet : 
"  You  condemn  me,  who  have  often  spoken  ill  of 
the  female  sex,  to  write  a  novel  in  honor  of  the 
good  woman,  the  intelligent  woman,  the  gracious 
woman ;  disguised  at  a  distance  beneath  a  velvet 
mask,  this  woman  will  be  the  portrait  of  the  wife 
of  my  best  literary  friend,  your  husband."  The 
Goncourts  —  this  plural  will  remain  necessary, 
since  death  itself  did  not  sever  one  brother's  talent 
from  the  other  —  were,  first  and  above  all,  histori- 
ans ;  this  quality  remained  paramount  even  when 
they  wrote  novels.  They  were  inspired  by  the 
curiosity  of  documents,  we  might  call  it  restitutive 
curiosity,  whether  manifested  in  their  historical  or 


54  EDMOND  DE  G  ON  COURT 

their  psychological  studies.  Where  Balzac  created, 
the  Goncourts  reconstituted.  Germinie  Lacer- 
teux,  Renee  Mauperin,  are  human  reconstitutions, 
much  more  than  creations  ;  the  pretty  attracted 
them,  and  conformably  to  the  suggestion  of  their 
nervous  temperament,  they  reproduced  the  sur- 
roundings of  Madame  du  Barry  and  Madame  de 
Pompadour  by  means  of  picturesque  flashes,  as 
they  reconstructed  poor  Germinie  Lacerteux  by 
means  of  traits  and  chiaroscuro.  Their  style,  in 
spite  of  Monsieur  Faguet's  ^  opinion  to  the  con- 
trary, is  preeminently  a  gift  of  the  painter,  though 
it  certainly  betrays  a  nervous  character.  "  Sister 
Philomena,  slight  and  aerial,  moves  gently  around 
the  beds  of  the  dying ;  her  soul  is  felt  in  every 
breath  she  breathes."  Again,  consider  this  sen- 
tence with  reference  to  Marie  Antoinette  :  "  She 
had  the  rhythmic  step  that  heralds  the  approach 
of  the  goddesses  in  the  ancient  poems."  The  bro- 
thers were  "  colorists  in  their  style  because  they 
were  nervous,"  and  similarly  they  may  be  called 
historians,  because  they  possessed,  both  in  history 
and  in  the  novel,  curiosity  of  the  restitutive  order. 
We  should  be  judging  by  appearances  only  if  we 
were  to  consider  such  realistic  books  as  "  Ger- 
minie Lacerteux  "  and  "  Renee  Mauperin  "  as  con- 
tradictory to  their  historical  work.  Physiology, 
the  anatomical  side  of  human  phenomena,  was 
always  a  subject  of  preoccupation  to  them.  Let 
us  not,  however,  confound  what  is  contemporary 
with  what  is  life  ;  though  Germinie  Lacerteux  and 
Eenee  Mauperin  are  more  properly  contemporary, 
1  In  the  Revue  Bleue :  "  The  Goncourts." 


EDMOND  DE  G  ON  COURT  55 

they  are  to  no  greater  extent  life-studies  than 
Madame  du  Barry  and  Madame  Pompadour.  In 
the  former,  as  in  the  latter,  the  consideration  of 
the  physiological  contingents  which  affect  the 
psychological  ones  was  paramount  in  the  minds 
of  the  writers.  In  order  to  pass  judgment  on 
the  Queens  of  the  Left  and  Right,  the  two  bro- 
thers made  use  of  no  other  means,  inductive  or 
deductive,  than  those  employed  in  studying  and 
classing  the  hearts  of  the  heroines  in  their  novels. 
The  Goncourts  differed  but  little  from  each  other 
except  in  externals ;  Jules  being  so  delicate,  so 
pink  and  white  in  complexion,  that  when  he  was 
on  walking  excursions  with  his  brother,  the  latter 
was  always  taken  for  some  gay  Wilhelm  Meister 
traveling  with  a  disguised  lady.  Edmond  was  of 
military  bearing,  looked  like  an  officer,  elegant  and 
precise.  Notwithstanding  this  dissimilarity  in  their 
outward  person,  their  minds  were  the  complements 
of  each  other  ;  their  artistic  apprehensions  tended 
towards  the  same  choice.  They  agreed  in  this : 
"  That  the  history  of  a  period  is  written  by  means 
of  its  outward  fashions  and  manners  ;  that  supper 
menus  and  adornments  manifest  the  inward  state 
of  mind  of  a  period."  Thus  it  was  that  the  bro- 
thers succeeded  in  dealing  with  the  mind  of  the 
eighteenth  century  with  the  same  dexterous,  artis- 
tic touch  as  that  with  which  they  fondly  handled  a 
figurine  of  Coesvox  or  Cousto.^ 

With  regard  to  this   dexterity  of  manipulation 
of  the  eighteenth  century  there  are  few  more  iuter- 

^  Two  sculptors  of  the  eigliteentli  century,  whose  statues 
are  among  the  masterpieces  of  French  art. 


56  EDMOND  DE  G  ON  COURT 

esting  studies  than  that  of  Honor^  Fragonard  ;  it 
is  also  one  of  the  most  convincing  testimonies  to 
the  artistic  and  color-loving  nature  of  the  Gon- 
courts.  We  may  remark,  by  the  way,  that  some 
of  Taine's  qualities  are  found  in  their  work,  partly 
in  the  management  and  selection  in  their  dealings 
with  art  or  with  personalities.  It  is  Taine,  how- 
ever, without  his  philosophy ;  for  they  lack  gen- 
eral ideas,  and  linger  more  willingly  over  the 
dissection  of  an  individual  or  a  branch  of  art, 
than  over  the  task  of  noticing,  in  a  period,  all  that 
its  contingent  of  ideas  has  furnished  to  certain 
attitudes  of  thought  in  the  aggregate,  during  the 
years  it  includes. 

Jules  de  Goncourt  died  in  1870.  "  He  was 
slain  by  style,"  his  brother  writes,  seeking  to  make 
the  French  language  express  all  it  can  and  even 
more.  Literary  form  devoured  him.  "  I  remem- 
ber," writes  Edmond,  "  after  hours  of  ceaseless 
night  labor  passed  in  revising,  and  in  efforts  after 
perfection,  which  wore  away  his  brain,  —  I  re- 
member the  anger  of  impotence,  and,  in  fine,  the 
strange,  intense  protestation  with  which  he  let 
himself  fall  on  the  divan,  and  how  silent  and  over- 
whelming was  the  ijmoking  that  followed."  Here 
was  the  same  agony  as  that  suffered  by  Flaubert, 
but  differently  confronted  ;  and  while  the  giant 
of  Croisset  roused  and  trained  himself  for  the 
struggle  by  scanning  sentences  in  Chateaubriand's 
"Atala,"  Jules  de  Goncourt  ransacked  his  mind, 
torturing  its  hyper-sensitive  organism ;  and,  van- 
quished, died  at  last  in  the  full  tide  of  youth,  at 
thirty-nine  years  of  age,  from  congestion  of  the 


EDMOND  DE  GON COURT  57 

brain,  caused  still  more  by  the  uncompromising 
severity  of  the  "  artist  "  than  by  over-work.  It 
was  the  artist  in  him  which  made  him  pitiless  of 
himself,  and  which  never  ceased  spurring  him  on 
toward  a  greater  perfection. 

Together  with  their  friends  they  formed  a  fine 
group  of  intellects.  At  the  Sunday  receptions 
held  in  their  home  at  Auteuil,  in  the  "  Garret,"  as 
the  house  was  called,  the  giants,  the  polar  bears  of 
genius,  Flaubert  and  Tourgueniev,  shaking  their 
manes,  stalked  up  and  down  the  room  filled  with 
works  of  art,  while,  lounging  on  divans,  Daudet, 
Maupassant,  and  the  two  brothers  replied  to  their 
arguments.  Each  discussed,  in  his  own  mood, 
"  Madame  Bovary  "  and  "  Germinie  Lacerteux," 
"  La  Faustin  "  and  "  La  Maison  Tellier,"  "  Le  Roi 
Lear  de  la  Steppe  "  and  "  Fromont  jeune,"  oppos- 
ing one  another,  coming  to  close  quarters  in  the 
persons  of  the  authors,  and  finally  appreciating 
one  another  with  all  the  wise  gradations  that  made 
each  put  himself  in  his  true  place,  without  brag- 
gadocio as  also  without  false  modesty.  In  1852 
Jules  started  a  paper,  to  which  for  a  year  Gavarni 
supplied  a  daily  illustration.  This  paper,  with 
which  Edmond  naturally  had  quite  as  much  to  do 
as  his  brother,  was  yet  more  especially  Jules's 
work.  Among  those  who  wrote  for  it  were  Mery, 
Gozlan,  Alphonse  Karr,  Montepin,  and  Theodore 
de  Banville.  In  1853  an  imperial  ukase  stopped 
the  publication,  which  was  called  "  Paris "  ;  and 
the  Goncourts,  being  somewhat  anxious  about  their 
first  novel,  "  En  18 —  "  (which  had  been  published 
on  the  2d  of  December  and  whose  leaves  had  been 


58  EDMOND  DE  G  ON  COURT 

scattered  by  the  cannon  of  the  "  Coup  d'Etat "), 
as  also  about  their  play  "  Zemganio,"  bade  adieu 
to  journalism.  In  the  last  number  of  their  news- 
paper, they  announced  their  intention  of  devoting 
themselves  to  a  book  of  historical  biography, 
"  The  Mistresses  of  Louis  XV."  Such  was  the 
beginning  of  the  reconstitution  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  in  which  the  brothers  went  from  Queen 
Marie  Antoinette  to  the  portrait-painters  of  the 
day,  and  from  them  to  the  courtesans.  These  last 
particularly  were  placed  before  the  modern  reader's 
eyes  with  all  their  detailed  characteristics.  The 
Goncourts  had  already  at  that  period  fixed  their 
attention  on  one  side  of  their  subject,  and  were 
seeking  for  the  spirit  of  the  age  they  described, 
above  all,  in  its  manners  and  customs.  In  an  ex- 
cellent article  written  on  the  morrow  of  Edmond's 
death,  Henri  Fouquier  asserts  that  Edmond  was 
especially  the  novelist.  Now,  as  the  novels,  no 
less  than  the  works  of  history  and  the  plays,  were 
joint  productions,  what  can  be  the  ground  for  such 
an  assertion  ?  "  La  Faustin,"  one  of  Edmond's  last 
books,  had  but  little  success,  and  would  scarcely 
serve  to  prove  what  Fouquier  says.  If  Edmond 
were  more  decidedly  the  novelist  of  the  two,  why 
did  he  not  show  it  by  writing  some  work  quite  dis- 
tinct from  that  which  was  common  to  both  ?  and 
how  is  it  possible  to  draw  the  line  between  the  re- 
spective contributions  of  the  two  brothers  to  their 
common  labor,  when  we  can  no  longer  question 
the  authors  themselves  ?  In  "  Soeur  Philomene," 
as  in  "  Nos  Hommes  de  Lettres  "  and  "  Madame 
Gervaisais,"  there  are  studies  made  simultaneously 


EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT  59 

in  the  same  environment,  either  medical  ("  Charles 
Demailly,"  for  instance),  or  mystical,  or  licentious. 
But  whatever  be  the  environment,  the  two  brothers 
fix  their  spy-glasses  on  the  same  phenomena. 
After  a  number  of  years  it  is  really  impossible  for 
the  reader  to  determine  what  belongs  to  one  or  the 
other  in  the  building  up  of  the  characters,  or  in 
the  development  of  the  story.  Before  coming  to 
their  work,  which  I  shall  divide  into  two  parts, 
I  beg  to  be  allowed  a  sketch  of  their  family  and 
surroundings  ;  after  which,  I  shall  point  out,  in 
the  historical  works  and  the  novels,  the  portions 
best  calculated  to  indicate  the  merits  of  their  style 
and  art.  One  of  their  most  characteristic  traits 
is  a  sense  of  deep  pity  underlying  their  irony,  — 
a  sense  of  pity  which  extends  beyond  the  mere 
persons  of  those  who  are  being  painted.  An 
instance  of  this  is  seen  when  Soeur  Philomene 
returns  thanks  to  God  in  her  evening  prayers,  "  O 
Lord,  what  have  I  done  for  so  many  blessings," 
whilst  Romaine  is  blaspheming  the  sufferings  of 
which  she  is  dying. 

II 
In  the  year  1830  Monsieur  and  Madame  de 
Goncourt  were  temporarily  settled  in  the  Rue 
des  Carmes,  a  faubourg  of  Nancy.  Their  family 
name,  which  was  Huot,  belonged  to  the  old  parlia- 
mentary bourgeoisie.  The  De  Goncourt  title  had 
been  conferred  on  the  family  by  letters  patent  from 
Louis  XVI.  Documentary  proof  of  these  letters 
was  produced  by  the  Goncourts  at  a  time  when  a 
newspaper  controversy  had  led   Louis  Ulbach  to 


60  EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT 

write,  "  Edmond  and  Jules  de  Goncourt  call  them- 
selves by  the  name  of  their  village,  but  they  have 
made  sufficient  protest  against  those  that  accuse 
them  of  using  a  false  name,  for  this  name  to  be 
attributed  to  them."  These  letters  patent,  consti- 
tuting them  "  Seigneurs  de  Goncourt,"  date  from 
1787,  are  marked  with  the  seal  of  the  town  of  Bar, 
and  are  signed  by  the  king.^ 

Edmond  was  born  in  Paris  in  1822 ;  Jules 
eight  years  later,  in  1830.  At  the  boarding-school 
of  Goubaux,  Edmond  studied  with  Dumas  Jils, 
without,  however,  injuring  his  health  by  any  undue 
application.  He  tells  us  in  the  "Journal"  how 
he  first  acquired  a  taste  for  collecting  :  — 

"  My  uncle,"  he  writes,  "  had  in  1836  some  pro- 
perty at  Menilmontant ;  it  was  the  '  Petite  Maison 
pleasure  house,'  formerly  inhabited  by  Mademoi- 
selle Marquise,  a  celebrated  courtesan  of  the  eight- 
eenth century.  Every  Sunday  we  used  to  go  out, 
and  this  is  how  we  spent  the  day.  Toward  two 
in  the  afternoon,  after  lunching  on  raspberries,  my 
mother,  my  aunt,  and  another  sister-in-law,  clad  in 
pretty  dresses  of  light  muslin,  and  wearing  plum- 
colored  shoes  with  satin  cross-bows,  such  as  Gavarni 
paints,  would  set  out  for  Paris.  They  formed 
a  pretty  trio  :  my  aunt,  a  dark  beauty  of  the  intel- 
lectual and  witty  type  ;  her  sister-in-law,  a  blond- 
complexioned  Creole,  with  blue  eyes,  light  hair,  pink 
and  white  skin,  and  of  languid  manners.  They 
reached  the   Boulevard  Beaumarchais.     My  aunt 

^  The  most  accurate  documents  on  the  brothers  have  been 
collected  in  a  valuable  volimie  {Les  Goncourts)  by  their  emi- 
nent friend  and  executor,  Alidor  Delzant. 


EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT  61 

was  one  of  the  four  or  five  persons  in  Paris,  at  this 
period,  who  had  a  passion  for  old  things,  Venetian 
glasses,  objects  in  ivory,  Genoa  velvet,  Alen<;on 
point-lace.  We  arrived  at  the  shop  of  a  brica- 
brac  dealer,  where,  as  it  was  Sunday,  everything 
was  closed,  the  light  entering  only  through  the 
half -open  door.  In  the  demi-obscurity  of  this 
vague  and  dusty  chaos  there  was  a  hurried  and  un- 
canny sort  of  rummaging,  and,  as  it  were,  the  noise 
of  pattering  mice,  amid  all  this  rubbish,  while 
hands  were  stretched  timidly  out,  lest  the  clean 
gloves  should  be  soiled.  Little  toes  poked  out  this 
or  that  object ;  then  there  were  sudden  bursts  of 
joy  at  some  fortunate  discovery.  Those  Sundays 
certainly  made  of  me  the  collector  of  knickknacks 
I  have  been  all  my  life." 

In  1849,  to  refresh  themselves  after  the  agita- 
tions of  the  Kevolution,  the  two  brothers  under- 
took a  walking  -  trip  in  France ;  it  was  on  this 
occasion  that  the  blond  and  rosy-cheeked  Jules, 
by  the  side  of  Edmond,  looked  to  those  who  saw 
him  like  a  woman  in  disguise.  In  1852  they  made 
another  journey  together,  this  time  to  Italy,  where, 
at  Milan,  and  again  at  Venice,  they  found  them- 
selves in  the  midst  of  Mazzini's  revolution.  On 
their  return  they  avenged  the  failure  of  their  first 
novel,  "  En  18 — ,"  caused  by  the  political  crisis, 
by  the  bringing  out  of  a  second  edition,  which 
Jules  Janin  welcomed  with  the  warmest  praise,  — 
praise  we  believe  well  justified,  as  will  appear  from 
a  few  lines  we  quote,  describing  a  scene  on  the 
Seine  near  Meudon :  "  The  river  gurgles ;  the 
humming  of  insects,  the  chirping  of  the  crickets, 


62  EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT 

the  whirring  of  wings  in  the  tall  poplars,  the 
smothered  notes  of  far-off  songs,  the  rustling  of 
germs  shooting  into  life,  joyous  crackling,  all  filled 
the  silence  with  the  murmuring  hosanna  chanted 
by  a  beautiful  summer  day."  Grumbling  classicists 
might  ask  how  a  "  hosanna,"  which  is  an  outburst, 
can  at  the  same  time  be  a  murmur  ;  however  such  a 
license  may  astonish  us,  the  passage  is  none  the  less 
picturesque.  It  is  a  romantic  effusion  adapted  to 
a  precise  and  rigorously  exact  picture.  A  cousin 
of  the  Goncourts,  Pierre  Charles  de  Villedeuil,  a 
"musketeer  of  the  empty  sack,"  went  into  part- 
nership with  the  two  brothers  in  order  to  estab- 
lish the  "  Eclair  "  newspaper.  But  at  the  end  of 
a  year,  during  which  the  "  Eclair "  had  struck 
down  too  many  government  officials,  this  news- 
paper was  obliged  to  disappear,  and  was  replaced 
by  the  "  Lorette,"  which,  by  a  singular  irony  of 
circumstances,  was  published  by  Curmer,  the  re- 
ligious publisher  of  the  day.  After  the  disap- 
pearance of  the  "  Eclair  "  and  of  the  "  Lorette," 
the  Goncourts  published  in  book  form,  in  1856, 
under  the  title  "  Quelques  Creatures  de  ce  Temps," 
a  collection  of  articles  that  had  already  appeared 
in  these  two  newspapers  ;  and  this  was  one  of  their 
last  steps  before  "  introducing  into  history,"  as 
Jules  Janin  wrote  when  speaking  of  the  woman 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  "  what  is  not  history." 
Such  is  the  work  of  the  Goncourts,  when  they 
sketch  the  portrait  of  the  old  woman  of  the  eight- 
eenth century,  when  they  place  the  old  lady's  tub- 
chair  as  the  social  pillar  of  society  at  this  epoch, 
when  they  show  to  what  extent  the  influence  of 


EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT  63 

those  who  were  bears  on  those  who  are,  and  how 
useful  to  the  yonng  of  both  sexes  were  these  old 
ladies,  "  living  memories,"  who  knew  how  to  in- 
struct and  love  those  that  were  to  come  after  them. 

"  In  her  poor,  broken-down  body  was  the  low 
rippling  laughter  of  the  mind's  mirth  ;  over  her  lips 
flits  the  past  and  flourishes  once  more  in  its  remi- 
niscences, whilst  a  lively,  boyish  speech  decks  with 
a  lost  charm  this  old  woman  of  the  past.  Around 
the  silk  tub-chair  [tonneau'].^  where  she  ensconced 
herself  during  the  winter,  see  how  many  young 
dark  and  blond  heads  throng ;  the  old  woman 
pairs  these  young  folks,  comforts  their  worries,  con- 
soles their  griefs  by  bantering  them,  breathes  into 
the  rosy  ears  bent  toward  her  a  thousand  lessons 
of  life,  a  thousand  counsels  of  social  morality  and 
of  amorous  directions,  a  thousand  teachings  at  once 
airy  and  profound.  She  is  a  beneficent  fairy  con- 
cealed beneath  a  mask  of  wrinkles,  and  her  young 
smile,  her  amiable  reason  belie  her  white  eyebrows. 
She  is  the  father  confessor  overflowing  with  abso- 
lutions, she  is  the  mother  of  loves,  she  is  a  bridge 
between  the  two  sexes,  or,  more  justly,  an  old  man 
with  the  bewitching  characteristics  of  a  woman." 

In  the  way  the  brothers  Goncourt  have  treated 
history,  there  is  more  than  one  point  in  common 
with  Taine,  yet  with  this  difference,  shall  I  say 
again  ?  —  that  Taine  does  not  content  himself  with 
arranging  the  human  mosaic,  what  the  English 
call  the  "  cumvdative  "  evidence.  Taine  concludes  ; 
he  unites  pieces  of  evidence  into  a  whole  which  he 
comments  on,  and  from  which  he  draws  conclu- 
sions.   Taine  is  a  philosopher,  a  deducer,  a  receiver 


64  EDMOND  DE  G  ON  COURT 

of  ideas,  whereas  the  Goncourts  are  only  observers, 
delicate  pryers  into  the  secret  movements  of  a  cen- 
tury. 

They  were  lucky  finders  ;  engravings,  libraries, 
newspapers  brought  them  treasures.  Now  it  is  the 
"  Memoires  de  Sophie  Arnoud,"  ^  now  the  "  Me- 
moires  du  Marquis  de  Calviere,"  in  which  latter 
the  marquis,  like  Herouard  for  Louis  XIII.,  notes 
down,  hour  by  hour,  all  the  sallies  and  childish 
prodigies  of  Louis  XV. ;  another  time  it  is  a  Wat- 
teau,  one  of  the  least  written-about  painters  of  his 
time,  for  the  simple  reason  that,  being  very  poor 
and  dying  very  young  in  the  hospital,  he  had  no 
time  to  frequent  society  and  to  obtain  patrons. 
"  Thus,"  writes  Michelet,  "  their  lucky  discoveries 
have  permitted  them  to  deliver  to  the  public  still- 
quivering  passion,  wet  traces  of  tears,  imprints  of 
tender  hands,"  all,  in  fine,  that  forms  the  frag- 
ments of  history,  the  blocks  from  which  is  formed 
the  statue.  With  certain  Marie  Antoinette  docu- 
ments they  have  constructed  an  admirable  and 
living  figure.  Leaving  aside  the  queen's  abandon- 
ment by  the  various  foreign  courts,  a  fact  painfully 
brought  out  by  Mallet  du  Pan's  saying,  "  The  for- 
eign courts  have  paid  so  little  attention  to  this  ca- 
tastrophe that  the  public  has  quickly  ceased  to  be 
impressed  by  it ;  "  leaving  aside  policy,  they  have 
revealed  beneath  the  brilliant  exterior  of  the  Prin- 
cess of  Versailles  the  mien  of  grandeur  and  nobil- 
ity which  the  woman  opposed  to  the  blind  f  m-y  of 

^  Sophie  Arnoud  was  one  of  the  wittiest  actresses  of  the 
end  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Her  preferred  lover,  the 
Duke  de  Lauraguais,  was  quite  as  witty  as  she  was. 


EDMOND  DE  G  ON  COURT  G5 

a  maddened  populace.  They  tell  us  that  "the 
queen  possessed  all  the  characteristic  marks  which 
men's  imagination  requires  from  majesty  in  woman  : 
a  serene  benevolence;  a  figure  made  to  fill  a 
throne  ;  hair  forming  a  diadem  of  pale  gold  ;  the 
most  beautiful  and  brilliant  complexion  possible  ; 
a  perfect  neck,  perfect  shoulders,  and  perfect 
hands;  the  rhythmic  step  that  heralds  the  ap- 
proach of  the  goddesses  in  the  ancient  poems  ;  a 
royal  poise  of  the  head  ;  a  superb  air  of  welcome 
and  protection,  the  dazzling  remembrance  of  which 
strangers  carried  away  with  them.  Her  mind 
manifested  in  private  society  a  facility  for  comply- 
ing with  others,  the  habit  of  belonging  to  them, 
the  art  of  encouraging  them,  the  science  of  render- 
ing them  pleased  with  themselves.  If  any  one 
took  liberties  with  what  she  said,  or  put  a  mali- 
cious interpretation  on  it,  the  queen  grew  angry  in 
her  kindly  way,  or  showed  a  childish  alarm  at  the 
innocent  sallies  that  escaped  her,  poutings  that 
were  forgotten  in  a  moment  in  presence  of  a  sad 
face,  fits  of  laughter  that  swept  away  all  disgrace, 
and,  mingling  together,  queenly  indulgence  and 
womanly  pardon."  Neither  Michelet  nor  Carlyle, 
nor  yet  Tacitus,  had  introduced  impassibility  into 
history ;  and  when  the  model  is  at  once  the  most 
attractive  and  the  most  unhappy  of  queens,  and 
this  model  is  painted  by  colorists  as  ardent  as  our 
authors,  one  need  not  be  astonished  at  the  enthusi- 
asm of  the  tone. 

The  eighteenth  century,  which,  underneath  its 
furbelows,  powder,  and  patches,  its  frivolous  artifi- 
cial fripperies,  its  outrageous  crinolines  and  head- 


66  EDMOND  DE  GON COURT 

dresses,  was  about  to  give  birth  to  the  picturesque 
naturalism  of  Rousseau,  and  which  colored  the  im- 
pulsiveness of  Diderot,  —  the  eighteenth  century, 
more  than  any  other  period,  was  that  of  which  the 
Goncourts  could  say,  "  A  period  must  be  known 
by  its  dinner-menus,  a  courtly  period  must  be 
sought  out  amid  its  fetes  and  its  attire."  More- 
over, the  two  brothers,  who  handled  the  engraver's 
burin  as  they  handled  the  pen,  were  peculiarly 
fitted  to  sketch,  out  of  the  descriptions  they  gave 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  the  coming  period,  as  it 
were  the  outcome  of  its  predecessor. 

They  were  among  the  first  to  introduce  the  living 
document^  and  thus,  in  drawing  up  the  indictment 
of  a  century,  they  call  in  the  aid  of  all  possible 
witnesses  ;  none  are  unworthy  or  puerile  in  their 
eyes.  In  the  France  of  the  eighteenth  century  the 
Goncourts  see  forthcoming  the  present  equality- 
loving  and  democratic  France  in  its  slow  elabora- 
tion as  expressed  by  the  claims  of  the  Beaumar- 
chais  "  Figaro,"  the  hybrid  production  of  an  epoch 
in  which  Voltaire  is  the  last  classical  death-rattle, 
as  Rousseau  is  the  first  breath  of  romanticism. 
One  of  the  original  ideas  of  the  Goncourts  was  to 
revive  the  vivid  and  sprightly  art  of  Moreau,  Fra- 
gonard,  and  Watteau,  at  a  time  when  the  French 
school  of  painting  was  living  on  the  academicism  of 
David  and  Ingres.  It  was  by  the  "  melancholy  " 
of  its  gayety  that  the  Goncourts  understood  to 
what  extent  the  eighteenth  century  was  the  an- 
cestor of  our  own.  The  smile  of  Watteau's  fig- 
ures, the  veiled  gayety  of  grace  of  "  Qui  sait  ?  " 
revealed  to  them  all  the  various  kinds  of  boldness 


EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT  67 

in  the  sculpture  and  engraving  of  the  century,  the 
troubles,  the  preoccupations  of  that  period  from 
which  were  to  issue  all  the  movement  of  modern 
ideas  and  all  the  complexities  of  our  time. 

Side  by  side  with  the  beautiful  portrait  of  Marie 
Antoinette,  I  will  place  one  of  Louis  XV.,  which 
is  no  less  telling. 

"  The  young  king  appears  in  one  of  the  inner 
rooms  at  Versailles,  a  tall,  peevish-looking,  and 
melancholy  lad,  with  signs  of  an  imaffable  and 
malicious  nature.  Though  in  the  flower  of  his 
youth,  he  is  wrapped  in  the  shadows  and  suspicions 
of  the  Escurial,  harrowed  by  the  fear  of  hell, 
which  betrays  itself  in  his  trembling  speech.  A 
feeling  of  emptiness  devours  him,  together  with  a 
great  hesitancy  of  will ;  he  experiences  imperious 
physical  needs,  the  violence  of  which  reminds  one 
of  the  ancient  Bourbons.  He  awaits  with  anxiety 
the  rule  of  a  woman  who  shall  be  either  passionate, 
intelligent,  or  amusing.  He  consumes  himself 
with  ennui  and  idleness,  while  appealing  to  the 
outbreaks  of  passion  or  the  riot  of  pleasure.  De- 
liverance from  himself  is  what  the  queen  fails  to 
give  him,  and  what  he  has  sought  all  his  life  in 
adultery." 

The  three  sisters  Nesles  make  their  appearance 
to  charm  away  his  listlessness,  and  the  Goncourts 
draw  portraits  of  them,  of  Madame  de  Mailly  and 
Madame  de  la  Tournelle,  which,  without  mention- 
ing other  qualities,  are  too  brilliant  not  to  be 
quoted. 

"  Madame  de  Mailly,  with  her  bushy  eyebrows 
and  eyes  so  black  that  they  had  a  somewhat  hard 


68  EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT 

expression,  was  one  o£  those  beauties  of  the  pro- 
voking kind.  With  rouged  face,  gauze-covered 
shoulders,  star-adorned  forehead,  flushed  cheeks, 
tumultuously  coursing  blood,  large  brilliant  eyes 
like  those  of  Juno,  bold  bearing,  and  flowing 
dress,  she  comes  forth  from  the  past  with  superb, 
unblushing  graces,  like  goddesses  at  the  feast  of 
Bacchus." 

Being  anxious  to  keep  the  royal  favor  in  her 
family,  Madame  de  Nesles  had  brought  her  sister 
r^licite  from  a  convent-school,  and  married  her  to 
the  Count  de  Vintimille.  Felicite  was  plain  and 
badly  shaped,  but  her  wit  had  completely  detached 
the  king  from  her  sister,  when  a  miliary  fever 
carried  her  off  in  a  few  days.  The  family,  how- 
ever, had  not  lost  all  its  chances.  Madame  de  la 
Tournelle  remained.  She  was  quite  different  from 
her  two  sisters,  being  unaffable  and  malicious,  but 
beautiful. 

"  She  had  a  dazzling  complexion,  an  insolent 
gait,  witty  gestures,  an  enchanting  look  in  her 
large  blue  eyes,  the  saucy,  impassioned,  sentimen- 
tal smile  of  a  child ;  her  breast  panted  and 
throbbed,  unceasingly  animated  by  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  life  ;  she  possessed  an  incomparable  art  of 
bewitching  people,  a  mind  that  seemed  to  come 
forth  from  her  heart  whenever  any  one  spoke  of 
tender  and  affecting  things." 

One  of  the  best  of  the  Goncourt  portraits  is 
that  of  Madame  du  Barry. 

"  Her  hair  was  of  the  most  beautiful  pale  tint 
imaginable,  and  curled  like  the  hair  of  a  child; 
it  was  such  hair  as  stamps  on  a  woman's  forehead 


EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT  69 

an  adorable  continuation,  as  it  were,  of  girlhood. 
Her  blue  eyes,  which  were  hardly  ever  seen  open, 
were  shaded  with  dark  curling  lashes  and  stole  the 
most  voluptuous  glances  ;  her  skin  was  like  a  rose- 
leaf,  her  neck  like  that  of  an  antique  statue." 

There  is  the  same  charm  in  the  sketch  of  Ma- 
dame de  Pompadour  : 

"  Marvelous  aptitudes,  a  learned  education  such 
as  few  could  receive,  had  made  this  young  woman 
a  virtuoso  of  seduction.  Her  complexion  was  of 
dazzling  whiteness,  her  pale  lips  disclosed  wonder- 
ful teeth,  her  eyes  were  of  an  indefinable  color, 
her  figure  shapely  and  of  moderate  height,  her 
gestures  sparing,  and  all  her  body  full  of  life  and 
passion,  a  changing  and  mobile  physiognomy  into 
which  her  woman's  soul  passed  continually,  in 
turn  tender,  fiill  of  feeling,  imperious,  noble,  or 
roguish." 

The  conscientiousness  with  which  Edmond  ran- 
sacked the  archives  will  appear  still  more  clearly 
in  the  letter  addressed  by  him  to  the  eminent 
collector  Burty,  when  he  was  working  at  the  series 
of  the  eighteenth  century. 

"My  dear  Friend,  —  I  no  longer  go  to  see 
anything  or  anybody  ;  ...  it  is  the  fourth  day  I 
have  worked  from  morning  till  night  without 
going  down  even  into  the  garden.  I  am  beginning 
to  find  that  history,  conscientiously  written,  is 
too  exacting  a  mistress,  .  .  .  and  to  want  to  go  to 
the  Exhibition ;  and  yet  when  I  get  out,  what  a 
fate,  to  be  compelled  to  pass  all  the  day  at  the 
Archives  !  " 

The  history  of   the   eighteenth   century,  more 


70  EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT 

than  the  history  of  any  other,  was  discovered  by 
the  Goncourts  in  outward  events,  and  even  in  the 
least  living  facts  of  the  nation.  In  pamphlets, 
portraits,  toilets,  almanacs,  drawings,  education, 
they  made  a  regular  hunt  for  all  elements  from 
which  they  might  bring  to  life  again  "  the  woman 
of  this  age."  In  France,  where,  more  than  any- 
where else,  woman  has  held  an  important  rank, 
to  write  the  history  of  the  mother,  the  wife,  and 
the  mistress  during  a  given  period  is  very  lucidly 
to  explain  and  sketch  the  man  of  the  same  time, 
and  his  particular  idiosyncrasies.  At  an  epoch 
when  the  Abbe  Prevost  created  the  most  touching 
heroine  of  the  day  out  of  a  marchande  d'amour^ 
it  cannot  be  without  interest  to  seek,  in  the  origins 
of  some  of  the  royal  mistresses,  for  peculiarities 
analogous  to  those  of  Manon  Lescaut  or  of  the 
women  of  Laclos,^  and  that  is  why,  before  speak- 
ing of  the  Goncourts  as  novelists,  it  was  necessary 
to  give  the  above  quotations. 


At  the  outset  of  their  career  the  brothers  in- 
habited the  much  mentioned  apartment  of  the  Rue 
de  St.  Georges,  where,  buried  beneath  heaps  of 
papers,  books,  and  pamphlets,  they  might  be  seen 
consulting  for  their  historical  work.  While  en- 
gaged in  this  task,  or  in  water-color  sketching 
along  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  they  found  time  to 

^  Laclos,  the  author  of  Liaisons  dangereuses,  drawing  upon 
documentary  evidence,  has  described  in  this  book  the  cold- 
blooded libertinism  of  his  time  as  graphically  as  the  Abbd 
Provost  its  sentimentalism. 


EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT  71 

try  their  hand  at  the  drama.  The  Vaudeville  re- 
presented "  Nos  Hommes  de  Lettres,"  which  was 
withdrawn  almost  immediately.  Contrary  to  the 
usual  custom,  which  is  to  make  a  play  out  of  a 
novel,  the  Goncourts  had  made  a  novel  out  of 
their  vaudeville.  Their  diary  for  1860  relates 
how  they  wrote  their  second  work  of  imagination, 
"  Soeur  Philomene." 

"  Sunday,  5th  February,  1860,  lunched  at  Flau- 
bert's. Bouilhet  related  to  us  this  story  about  a 
sister  of  the  hospital  at  Rouen,  where  he  was 
house-surgeon.  A  friend  of  his  was  house-surgeon 
like  himself,  and  this  sister  was  in  love  with  him, 
in  a  Platonic  way,  he  believed.  His  friend  hung 
himself.  The  sisters  of  the  hospital  were  cloistered, 
and  went  down  into  the  courtyard  of  the  hospital 
only  on  days  when  sacrament  was  celebrated. 
Bouilhet  was  watching  beside  his  dead  friend  when 
he  saw  the  sister  enter,  kneel  down,  and  say  a 
prayer  which  lasted  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour, 
without  paying  any  more  attention  to  him  than  if 
he  were  not  there.  When  the  sister  rose  from  her 
knees,  Bouilhet  put  into  her  hand  a  lock  of  hair 
that  he  had  cut  off  for  the  dead  man's  mother, 
and  she  took  it  without  thanking  him  or  saying 
even  a  word.  After  that  time,  whenever  they  met, 
she  maintained  the  same  silence  as  to  what  had 
taken  place  between  them,  but  on  every  opportu- 
nity showed  herseK  most  serviceable  and  devoted 
to  him." 

This  story  took  almost  absolute  possession  of 
the  minds  of  the  Goncourts.  For  a  whole  season 
they  walked  the  Charite  Hospital  and  watched 


72  EDMOND  DE  G  ON  COURT 

the  operations  and  the  consequent  nursing  of  the 
patients.  Their  delicately  organized  natures  in  no 
wise  accustomed  themselves  to  the  miserable  horror 
of  the  flesh-torturings  they  witnessed,  and  it  was 
while  they  still  retained  their  shuddering  impres- 
sions that  they  wrote  "  Sceur  Philomene."  The 
adorable,  ethereal  creature  familiar  to  all  readers 
of  the  book,  —  her  slender  form,  crowned  with  the 
high  cap  of  the  sisterhood,  moves  gently  about  the 
beds  of  the  dying.  One  sees  her  gestures,  one 
feels  her  breath,  one  surprises  her  soul  in  its  dis- 
creet action.  Love  burns  in  her  as  the  lamp  of 
a  sanctuary.  "  This  love,"  writes  Paul  de  St. 
Victor  in  the  "  Debats,"  "  appears  as  melancholy 
as  a  fire  in  a  desert."  Writing  to  Flaubert  the 
Goncourts  said,  "  We  have  placed  the  birth  and 
childhood  of  our  sister  in  an  environment  of  the 
people,  with  manners  and  minds  of  somewhat  vul- 
gar stamp,  in  order  the  better  to  clip  her  angel's 
wings.  Tell  us  then,"  they  continued,  "  if  the 
figure  we  have  created  seems  to  you  to  stand  up- 
right." Flaubert  replies  in  a  letter  dated  July, 
1861:  — 

"  Received  your  volume  this  morning  at  eleven, 
and  had  devoured  it  before  five  this  afternoon. 
Notwithstanding  some  little  repetition  of  words 
that  I  should  quibble  with  you  about,  the  book 
thrilled  me.  I  read  it  through  at  one  sitting. 
Philomene's  childhood,  and  her  life  in  the  convent, 
dazzled  me.  It  is  true,  it  is  delicate,  it  is  profound ; 
many  a  woman  will  recognize  herself  in  the  por- 
trait. One  feels  the  body  beneath  the  mysticism. 
.  .  .  Your  patient's  conversations,  your   physiog- 


EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT  73 

nomies  of  students  and  house-surgeons,  that  of  the 
head-surgeon  Malivoire,  are  exceedingly  well  done. 
Tell  me  how  your  book  is  received,  how  attacked ; 
let  me  hear  from  you.  Accept  my  affectionate 
greetings,  and  rest  assured  of  the  love  I  bear  you. 
"  GusTAVE  Flaubert." 
Some  years  later  their  relative  success  having 
brought  their  books  more  into  notice,  they  record 
that,  whereas  "  Nos  Hommes  de  Lettres  "  had  cost 
them  a  thousand  francs,  "  Sceur  Philomene  "  has 
been  sold.  "  We  are  making  progress,"  wrote 
Edmond.  They  once  more  felt  the  pulse  of  the 
public  with  "  Kenee  Mauperin,"  the  modern  girl 
of  the  Second  Empire.  The  heroine  is,  at  the 
same  time,  pure  and  free  in  manners,  tomboy  and 
virtuous  ;  she  is  preserved  from  love  by  her  sur- 
plus of  brain,  and  restored  to  her  sex  only  by  the 
death  of  her  brother,  Henri  Mauperin,  whom  she 
loves  sincerely,  accusing  herself  of  having  killed 
him  by  an  untimely  piece  of  news.  The  death  of 
this  brother  restores  her  to  her  woman's  nature. 
"  The  soul  of  Eenee  is  transfigured  amid  the  ruins 
of  her  body  ;  the  bold,  scoffing  child  becomes  a 
bashful  virgin.  Like  a  wounded  Amazon  asking 
once  more  for  her  woman's  clothing,  Renee  reas- 
sumes  before  dying  the  weakness  and  gentleness 
of  her  sex ;  her  elfish  wit  still  hovers  on  her  lips, 
but  tender  now  and  melancholy  ;  the  filial  senti- 
ment which  has  filled  her  life  inspires  her  last 
moments ;  she  feigns  to  be  calm,  acts  as  if  she 
were  convalescent,  exhausts  herself  in  false  smiles 
and  vain  projects  ;  her  words,  however,  become 
rarer,  there  are  long  intervals  of  silence   in  her 


74  EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT 

bedroom,  one  hears  no  longer  aught  but  the  sighs 
of  her  who  is  suffering  and  the  sobs  of  him  who  is 
watching." 

The  portrait  of  Renee  at  the  outset  enables  us 
to  realize  the  evolution  that  had  been  accomplished ; 
and  her  return  home  shows  likewise  how  she  re- 
covers through  the  agency  of  sorrow  her  woman's 
nature  which  she  had  voluntarily  disguised,  under 
the  influence  of  her  father  and  Denisel.  The  in- 
spiration of  the  portrait  came  from  a  lady  friend 
of  the  Goncourts,  who  has  elsewhere  been  described 
in  the  "  Journal." 

"  Mademoiselle  .  .  .  possesses  the  cordiality 
and  loyalty  of  a  man,  allied  to  the  graces  of  a  girl ; 
a  ripe  reason ;  an  ingenuous  heart ;  a  taste  for  the 
most  refined  shades  of  intellect  and  art;  a  con- 
tempt for  all  that  is  the  ordinary  topic  of  woman's 
thought  and  conversation ;  lively  antipathies  and 
sympathies  at  first  sight;  smiles  of  bewitching 
complicity  for  those  who  understand  her  ;  a  clear 
understanding  of  the  studio-mind ;  a  passion  for 
riding  or  driving ;  and  withal  a  childish  dread  of 
Fridays  and  the  number  thirteen ;  in  fine,  an  ami- 
able woman's  foibles  mingled  with  original  co-* 
quetry." 

One  of  the  characters  of  the  book  is  the  Abbe 
Blancpoix,  who  desires  to  deliver  the  Bon  Dieu  of 
the  rich  from  all  the  ugly  severities  of  the  Bon 
Dieu  of  the  poor.  The  authors  were  accused  of 
having  copied  him  from  the  Abbe  Carron,  whom 
Veuillot  reproached  with  "  driving  a  two-horse 
carriage  when  cabs  were  to  be  had."  However 
this  may  be,  the  Abbe  Blancpoix  furnished  Ed- 


EDMOND  BE  G  ON  COURT  75 

mond  with  an  opportunity  to  write  a  letter  spar- 
kling with  wit,  in  which  his  arguments  tending  to 
whitewash  the  good  Abbe  are  of  the  most  ironical 
vein.     He  says :  — 

"  We  had  no  intention  of  painting  a  portrait, 
we  have  no  taste  for  personalities,  and  not  being 
in  the  habit  of  attacking  the  dead,  we  did  not  for 
a  moment  think  of  the  Abbe  Carron.  Our  design 
was  to  depict  not  an  individual,  but  a  type ;  not  a 
priest,  but  the  priest  who  directs  high-born  con- 
sciences and  places  Paradise  within  the  reach  of 
the  rich,  —  the  priest  who  out  of  the  ugly,  harsh, 
rigorous  religion  of  the  poor  evolves,  as  it  were, 
an  amiable  religion  of  the  rich,  at  once  airy, 
charming,  and  elastic ;  the  priest  who  out  of  the 
idea  of  God  forms  something  that  is  comfortable 
and  elegant." 

We  may  be  grateful  to  the  Abbe  Carron's  heirs 
for  having  extorted  from  Gon  court  so  elegant  a 
sally  of  wit  and  such  acute  irony. 

In  1865  the  two  brothers  —  Edmond,  as  always, 
supplying  the  solid,  documentary  portion  —  offered 
to  the  public  "  Germinie  Lacerteux."  This  is  a 
new  period  of  the  novel.  Hitherto  medical  sci- 
ence had  dealt  with  the  physiology  of  the  body's 
ills,  and  philosophy  had  contented  itself  with  the 
therapeutics  of  the  mind's  troubles.  Thirty  years 
before  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  the  story  of  Ger- 
minie Lacerteux  furnishes  us  with  a  case  of  moral 
and  physical  reduplication  no  less  precise  and  ver- 
ifiable than  that  of  "  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde  ; " 
moreover,  the  study  of  the  double  life  in  Germinie 
is  based  on  fact.     For  fifteen  years  the  Goncourts 


76  EDMOND  DE  GON COURT 

had  in  their  service  a  servant  without  reproach. 
She  was  a  woman  whose  honesty  and  devotion  had 
never  swerved.  At  her  death  their  surprise  was 
great  to  discover,  that  beneath  the  upright  and 
blameless  conduct  of  the  servant,  there  had  been 
another  existence  of  debauch  and  daily  licentious- 
ness. Such  a  study  of  a  double  life,  in  which  the 
merit  of  the  servant  was  grounded  on  no  moral 
principles,  and  failings  and  virtues  seemed  equally 
the  result  of  the  unconscious  promptings  of  fatal- 
ity, was  bound  to  arouse  the  conservative  press 
reader.  The  most  moderate  of  this  section  char- 
acterized "  Germinie  Lacerteux  "  as  being  "  putrid 
literature."  Others  accused  the  authors  of  wan- 
tonly provoking  a  scandal,  and  of  wishing  to  bring 
about  a  demoralization  of  the  people.  The  friends 
of  the  Goncourts,  Monselet  and  others,  spoke  of 
the  book  as  being  "sculptured  slime."  In  truth, 
all  this  wrath  was  quite  unnecessary  over  the  ap- 
pearance of  an  innovation,  which  after  all  was  only 
a  somewhat  different  and  less  common  way  of  writ- 
ing that  human  history  which  the  novel  claims  to 
be.  There  is  a  taking  into  account  of  the  whole 
being  on  the  dissecting-table,  a  noting  of  all  the 
contingents,  physiological  and  appetitive,  generous 
and  self-sacrificing,  and  an  absolute  separation  of 
the  movements,  so  that  the  two  beings  which 
exist  in  Germinie  live  separately.  Each  runs  a 
different  career.  It  is  precisely  the  diversity  in 
these  two  careers  of  Germinie,  and  the  non-con- 
fusion in  her  of  the  contradictory  elements  of  her 
nature,  which  constitutes  the  curiosity  and  truth 
of  the  study.     It  is  the  coexistence  in  this  soul 


EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT  77 

of  morally  morbid  elements  with  others  that  are 
sound,  the  absence  of  contagion  between  the  good 
and  the  bad,  the  inward  flourishing  together  of 
poisonous  plants  and  other  perennial  ones ;  it  is 
the  juxtaposition  in  the  same  ground  of  decompo- 
sition and  vigor,  of  purulence  and  purity,  which 
makes  this  study  so  singular,  and  yet,  we  dare  to 
say,  so  true  to  life.  Cases  such  as  that  of  Ger- 
minie,  or,  indeed,  that  of  Dr.  Jekyll,  are  not  fre- 
quent. Of  the  two.  Dr.  Jekyll  is  the  more  cul- 
pable, since  he  is  more  conscious,  carried  away 
as  he  is  by  voluntary  combinations  of  his  brain, 
whereas  Germinie  obeys  only  natural  appetites. 
Germinie  is  a  fallen  character,  Jekyll  a  powerful 
one  ;  and  though  the  double  life  of  these  two  be- 
ings is  directed  toward  absolutely  different  aims, 
the  one  acting  entirely  from  instinct,  the  other 
from  perverted  reasoning,  I  make  a  point  of  com- 
paring them  on  two  grounds :  first,  in  order  to 
claim  for  the  Goncourts  the  initiative  of  a  new 
kind  of  study ;  next,  to  show  up  the  inanity  of 
those  virtuous  cries  of  shocked  feeling,  from  peo- 
ple who  confess  without  shame  to  an  interest  in 
Stevenson's  sketch,  while  they  boast  of  their  shame 
in  reading  the  Goncourts'  study.  Since  Jekyll  is 
an  assassin  and  a  thief  whose  etat  d'cime  none  will 
deny  having  contemplated,  why  shudder  at  the 
mention  of  Germinie  ?  Jekyll  is  a  man  who  in  the 
so-called  imconsciousness  of  hypnotism  steals  and 
kills ;  the  other  is  a  wretched  woman  who,  in  the 
rush  of  a  physical  life  of  which  she  has  not  the 
guidance  (and  that  is  also  a  sort  of  hypnotism), 
sinks  into  degradation,  while  yet  preserving  in  her- 


78  EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT 

self  a  capacity  to  perform  a  certain  distinct  class  of 
duties.  They  are  both  in  turn  guilty  and  honest 
people,  two  of  life's  vanquished  ones  and  two  work- 
ers. Whence  comes  it  that  Germinie,  whose  de- 
bauches and  downfalls  have  their  cause  in  innate 
appetites,  appears  unworthy  to  be  discussed  by 
those  who  take  pleasure  in  subtle  criticisms  over 
Jekyll?  Are  we  an  adolescent  civilization,  to  re- 
coil like  children  from  the  profound  study  of  the 
soul's  ills  ?  Are  there  cancers  so  foul  that  the  phi- 
losopher should  turn  away  from  them  ?  Why  in 
psychological  studies  the  loud  pharisaical  rebuke 
before  the  spectacle  of  the  open  sores  of  lechery, 
when  similar  sores  produced  by  reason  and  money- 
interest  find  us  all  attention  ?  "  Germinie  Lacer- 
teux  "  is  not  a  bad  book,  since  it  is  a  humane  book, 
in  which  the  heart  is  torn  with  pity  in  presence  of 
so  much  inward  misery.  "  We  are  in  a  hurry  to 
finish  with  the  proofs  of  our  '  Germinie  Lacer- 
teux,' "  writes  Edmond  de  Goncourt  on  the  12th  of 
November.  "  Living  through  this  novel  again  puts 
us  into  a  state  of  nervousness  and  sadness.  It  is 
as  if  we  were  again  burying  our  dead  servant.  Oh ! 
it  is  a  most  painful  book,  and  has  come  forth  from 
our  inmost  being.  It  is  even  materially  impossi- 
ble for  us  to  go  on  correcting  it.  We  no  longer 
see  what  we  have  written.  The  facts  of  our  book 
in  their  horror  and  misery  conceal  from  us  even 
the  mistakes  and  printer's  errors."  And  the  proof 
that  the  nervous  state  they  speak  of  causes  them 
real  suffering  appears  from  another  mention  of  it 
made  by  Edmond  on  the  publication  of  the  book. 
"Our    '  Germinie   Lacerteux '   appeared    yester- 


EDMOND  DE  G  ON  COURT  79 

day,"  he  writes ;  "  we  are  ashamed  to  have  to  con- 
fess to  a  nervous  emotion.  To  feel  in  one's  self  the 
moral  strain  that  we  now  experience,  and  to  be 
betrayed  by  one's  nerves,  by  a  cowardly  sinking  at 
the  pit  of  the  stomach,  by  a  sort  of  '  rumpling ' 
feeling,  is  the  misery  belonging  to  our  natures, 
which  are  so  firm  in  their  boldness  and  their  efforts 
towards  the  true,  but  are  nevertheless  betrayed  by 
that  ill-working  bit  of  machinery  called  the  body." 
They  were  not  far  wrong  in  fearing  the  coming 
conflict  with  the  public.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  great 
struggle  they  were  facing,  quite  as  great  as  that 
of  the  romantic  school  against  the  classicists. 

"  Germinie  Lacerteux "  sold  like  wildfire.  In 
order  to  make  this  success  serve  for  their  dramatic 
work,  the  two  brothers  started  on  "  Henriette 
Marechal,"  one  of  those  stories  that  society  people 
prefer  to  experience  in  their  own  persons,  rather 
than  to  hear  or  to  read.  Henriette  Marechal,  who 
might  figure  in  the  "  Golden  Legend,"  since  she 
is  a  martyr,  was  not  so  successful  as  Germinie. 
Though  Henriette,  to  save  her  mother,  springs  upon 
the  stage  declaring  her  mother's  lover  to  be  her 
own  paramour,  —  though  she  is  thus  heroic,  Hen- 
riette was  condemned  by  the  public,  as  she  pre- 
viously had  been  by  the  censor.  In  the  "Journal" 
the  Goncourts  have  given  an  account  of  the  read- 
ing of  "  Henriette  Marechal "  to  the  members  of 
the  Comedie  Fran^aise.  "  Here  we  are,  seated  be- 
fore a  green  baize  table  with  a  desk  and  something 
to  drink.  There  sit  ten  of  the  members,  impas- 
sive and  mute.  In  the  first  act,  the  scene  of  the 
opera  ball  finishes  amid  laughter  and  sympathetic 


80  EDMOND  DE  G  ON  COURT 

murmurs.  But  shortly  after,  seriousness  is  once 
more  the  order  of  the  day.  Thierry  ^  takes  us 
into  his  private  room ;  we  hear  Got's  voice.  We 
wax  anxious.  My  eyes  are  fixed  on  the  clock, 
which  tells  us  it  is  five-and-twenty  minutes  to  four. 
I  am  so  absorbed  that  I  do  not  see  Thierry  re- 
enter ;  a  caressing  voice  says  to  me,  '  Your  play  is 
accepted  and  cordially  approved.'  "We  ask  his 
leave  to  run  away  in  order  to  get  a  breath  of  fresh 
air,  without  our  hats,  so  intensely  are  we  ab- 
sorbed !  "  Thierry,  who  dared  not  ask  for  any- 
thing to  be  cut  out,  trembled  for  such  expressions 
as  "  paillasse  en  deuil,"  "  tourneur  de  mats  de 
cocagne  en  chambre,"  "  abonne  de  la  Revue  des 
Deux  Mondes."  (The  last  of  these  expressions 
is  equivalent  to  the  famous  "  Vieillard  stupide  "  of 
Hernani.)  It  would  need  only  an  excited  audi- 
ence to  produce  an  outburst  and  a  storm  of  hissing. 
Monsieur  Rouher,  one  of  the  ministers,  proposed 
that  Henriette  Marechal  should  only  be  wounded, 
and  afterwards  marry  Vamant  de  lafamille.  But 
Marshal  Vaillant,  the  Minister  of  Fine  Arts,  de- 
cided with  military  thoroughness  that  the  final 
pistol-shot  should  remain  in  the  play. 

"Madame  Plessy  alone  of  the  actors,"  writes 
Edmond,  speaking  of  those  who  interpreted  the 
various  roles,  "  possesses  the  real  literary  instinct. 
She  understands  from  the  very  first,  and  renders 
the  spirit  of  the  part.  She  feels  at  once  all  she 
observes.  With  her  the  comprehension  is  imme- 
diate, always  intelligent,  sometimes  sublime.  Her 
only  failing  is  her  instantaneousness  of  intuition, 
^  The  manager  of  the  Frangais. 


EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT  81 

which  does  not  fix  itself.  She  understands  so 
quickly  that  every  day  she  understands  something 
fresh.  Each  time  she  acted  our  play  in  a  superior 
manner ;  but  each  time  she  was  superior  in  a  part 
she  had  neglected  the  day  before,  and  which  she 
abandoned  on  the  morrow.  As  to  the  other  actors, 
they  repeat  at  first  like  children,  they  grope  after 
the  intonation,  they  fail  in  the  gesture.  They  need 
to  be  prompted  and  urged  on.  At  every  moment 
they  make  mistakes  in  what  has  been  written,  and 
are  an  unconscionable  time  before  getting  into  the 
'  skin  of  the  personage.'  " 

The  "  Journal "  of  the  Goncourts,  which  is  one 
of  the  most  contemporary  and  sprightly  fragments 
of  their  work,  has  raised,  and  will  always  raise, 
discussion.  Has  any  one  the  right  to  cast  abroad, 
for  generations  to  come,  conversation  freely  in- 
dulged in,  among  private  friends  ?  It  is  the  Gon- 
courts themselves  who  have  given  a  reply  to  this 
question  by  establishing  their  accounts  of  the 
eighteenth  century  on  notes,  fragments,  diaries, 
gossip,  and  indiscretions  of  all  kinds,  in  which  the 
century  was  so  rich.  Their  historical  work  is  built 
up  out  of  the  men  and  women  whose  portraits  they 
have  painted ;  and  these  portraits  are  the  outcome 
of  divers  journals  of  the  eighteenth  century.  That 
is  their  answer. 


As  long  as  their  books  are  read  there  wiU  be 
the  joint  work  of  the  Goncourts  to  take  into  ac- 
count ;  and  it  would  be  a  barren  task  to  separate, 
in  what  is  left  us  of  them,  the  two  minds  whose 


82  EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT 

every  intellectual  movement  was  executed  in  mar- 
ried unity  and  harmony.  The  foundation  of  the 
"  Academy  of  the  Goncourts,"  which  dates  back 
some  fifteen  years,  owes  the  initiative  of  its  final 
expression  to  Edmond.  The  elect  of  this  academy, 
in  which  talent  was  to  be  the  only  title  of  admis- 
sion, were  ten  in  number.  Among  them  figured 
Alphonse  Daudet,  Leon  Hennique,  Huysmans,  the 
two  brothers  Rosny,  Octave  Mirbeau,  Paul  Mar- 
guerite, and  Gustave  Geoffroy.  Some  of  these  are 
completely  unknown  to  English  letters,  though 
none  the  less  men  of  real  worth,  whose  willful 
eccentricity  {not  to  say  exaggerated  verve)  has 
kept  them  out  of  the  circle  of  European  notoriety. 

He  whom  Gaston  Deschamps  called  "  the  ner- 
vous, morose  old  man  "  had  no  other  role  in  this 
academy,  however,  than  that  of  allotting  and  dis- 
tributing the  capital.  Every  member  was  to  re- 
ceive six  thousand  francs  a  year,  on  condition,  if 
he  were  already  a  member  of  the  classical  Acad- 
emy, of  quitting  it  before  entering  the  other. 

What  do  the  Goncourts  represent  from  the  lit- 
erary point  of  view  ?  They  represent  "  work,"  an 
incessant  amount  of  work,  labor  without  respite, 
the  work  which  Zola  extolled  in  his  appeal  to 
young  men :  — 

"  The  ideal  is  work.  In  all  my  struggles  and 
fits  of  despair,  I  have  had  but  one  remedy,  work. 
How  often  have  I  sat  down  to  my  table  in  the 
morning  not  knowing  what  to  do,  full  of  bitter- 
ness, and  tortured  by  some  great  physical  or  moral 
pain  ;  and  yet  each  time,  in  spite  of  the  revolt  of 
my  suffering,  my  task  has  been  a  comfort  and  relief 


EDMOND  DE  GON COURT  83 

to  me ;  I  have  always  been  strengthened  by  my 
daily  task." 

The  Goncourts  were  workers.  Edmond  worked 
longer ;  it  is  difficult  to  determine  if  he  worked 
better,  since  practically  all  that  he  did  after  his 
brother's  death  was  the  accumvilation  of  docu- 
ments. I  select  at  random  out  of  the  "  Journal " 
a  note  of  the  9th  November,  during  the  siege  of 
Paris.  He  is  speaking  of  Victor  Hugo,  of  his  ab- 
sence of  taste,  of  his  being  in  some  things  a  slave 
to  the  body,  for  instance,  of  his  indiscriminating 
appetite. 

"  I  remember  one  day  when  Neffbyer  Vacquerie, 
Proudhon,  my  brother,  and  I  had  given  up  expect- 
ing him  to  dinner  and  had  dined  without  him,  our 
leavings  had  been  thrown  into  a  corner,  an  unclean 
medley  of  stewed  veal,  ray-fish,  etc.  Hugo  arrived, 
and  literally  devoured  it,  while  we  looked  on  in 
stupefaction.  .  .  .  He  eats  like  Polyphemus  !  " 

I  cannot  finish  this  sketch  without  quoting  the 
fine  portrait  —  drawn  by  Sainte-Beuve,  and  one  of 
the  best  pieces  of  writing  this  critic  has  left  us  — 
of  the  illustrious  friend  and  patroness  of  Edmond, 
who  telegraphed  to  Daudet  on  hearing  the  fatal 
news,  "  I  cannot  believe  it ;  I  am  prostrated."  I 
mean  the  Princess  Matilda.  Already  in  1862, 
when  the  two  brothers  were  still  struggling,  the 
princess,  struck  by  the  novelty  of  their  talent,  drew 
them  into  her  circle,  employed  her  credit  on  their 
behalf,  and  remained  their  friend. 

"  The  princess  has  a  high,  noble  forehead,  and 
her  light  golden  hair,  leaving  uncovered  on  each 
side  broad,  pure  temples,  is  bound  in  wavy  masses 


84  EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT 

on  the  full,  finely  shaped  neck.  Her  eyes,  which 
are  well  set,  are  expressive  rather  than  large,  gleam 
with  the  affection  or  the  thought  of  the  moment, 
and  are  not  of  those  which  can  either  feign  or  con- 
ceal. The  whole  face  indicates  nobleness  and  dig- 
nity, and,  as  soon  as  it  lights  up,  grace  united  to 
power,  frankness,  and  goodness  ;  sometimes  also  it 
expresses  fire  and  ardor.  The  head  so  finely  poised, 
and  carried  with  such  dignity,  rises  from  a  dazzling 
and  magnificent  bust,  and  is  joined  to  shoulders 
of  statuesque  smootlmess  and  perfection." 

The  friends  the  Goncourts  had,  and  merited  to 
have,  form  perhaps  not  the  least  part  of  their  glory, 
when  it  is  remembered  that  among  them  were  such 
men  as  Theophile  Gautier,  Flaubert,  Delacroix,  and 
Daudet.  The  friendship  of  Monsieur  and  Ma- 
dame Alphonse  Daudet,  of  the  true  woman  who  is 
also  a  woman  of  talent,  the  friendship  which  con- 
soled and  sustained  Edmond  after  the  death  of 
Jules,  and  in  which  the  Daudets  maintained,  not- 
withstanding their  admiration,  a  right  to  advise,  — 
honors  Edmond's  memory  no  less  than  the  last 
lines  of  Zola's  funeral  oration.^  When  in  the  case 
of  a  man  who  preeminently  possessed  a  cerebral 
temperament  one  sees  the  existence  of  such  a  gift 
of  friendship,  it  reveals  the  tenacious  vigor  of  the 
sentiments,  the  coexistence  in  him  of  an  emotional 
activity  as  intense  (a  rare  thing  in  men  of  cerebral 
temperament)  as  that  of  his  brain. 

"  All  Edmond's   consolation  was  in  his  work," 
said  Zola.     "  To-day  he  is  at  rest ;  and  we  cry  to 
him,   like  Daudet,    sobbing   and    distracted  with 
1  Edmond  de  Goncourt  died  July  16,  1896. 


EDMOND  DE  GONCOURT  85 

grief :  '  Go,  dear  grand  workman,  go  !  Thy  task 
is  achieved  ;  go  to  rejoin  thy  brother  in  the  tomb 
and  in  glory.'  " 

As  for  "glory,"  the  centuries  to  come  shall  de- 
cide. The  two  brothers  instigated,  influenced,  and 
guided  the  movement  of  a  whole  school  of  young 
writers,  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal  without 
anything  else.  Glory  is  shy.  It  is  her  preroga- 
tive to  give  or  withliold  the  kiss  her  lovers  pray 
for.  Her  fancies  are  unanticipated  and  sometimes 
surprising  to  herself.  Will  Edmond  de  Goncourt 
be  one  of  those  temporary  favorites  ?  If  so,  in 
spite  of  the  Goncourts'  voluminous  work  it  would 
be  an  exceptional  piece  of  good  fortune,  more  than 
an  expected  one. 


JEAN  MAKTIN  CHAECOT 

Jean  Martin  Charcot  was  born  in  1825. 
His  father  was  a  carriage-builder  of  small  means, 
yet  an  artist  rather  than  an  artisan,  for  the  work- 
man's profits  in  business  only  served  to  defray  the 
cost  of  the  artist's  dreams.  He  designed  wonderful 
chariots,  and  executed  them  so  well  that  even  to- 
day the  great  men  of  his  craft  study  his  work. 
From  him  the  eminent  physician  inherited  his 
taste  for  artistic  surroundings,  as  well  as  his  love 
of  the  beautiful  in  all  things.  His  house  in  Paris 
was  full  of  works  of  art,  and  all  who  knew  him 
remember  well  the  splendid  mantelpiece  at  Neuilly, 
copied  by  himself  from  the  original,  of  the  fif- 
teenth century,  discovered  near  Limoges. 

Charcot  obtained  his  appointment  as  Interne 
des  Hopitaux  in  1848,  simultaneously  with  his 
best  friend,  the  surgeon  Vulpian.  Through  the 
earlier  part  of  his  career  his  master,  Reyer,  know- 
ing that  he  was  poor,  helped  him  by  placing  him 
in  a  rich  family,  with  whom  he  travelled  through 
Italy  as  attendant  physician.  It  is  curious  to  note 
that  he  failed  in  his  first  examination  for  "  lack  of 
eloquence " !  At  the  second  trial,  however,  he 
brought  to  bear  all  the  resources  of  his  newly  ac- 
quired modern  languages  so  effectively  that  he 
astounded  his  examiners  by  the  wealth  of  his  quo- 
tations.    In  1856  his  articles  on  the  "  Disorders  of 


JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT  87 

the  Liver,"  which  appeared  in  the  "  Bulletin  de  la 
Society  de  Biologie,"  marked  him  as  a  coming  man. 
He  felt  the  impulse,  and  rose  with  giant  strides. 

Gout  and  rheumatism  were  his  next  subjects. 
Cornil  and  Charcot  were  among  the  first  to  ob- 
serve and  study  the  influence  of  these  diseases 
upon  the  kidneys,  and  these  studies  lasted  until 
1862,  when  Charcot  took  definite  charge  of  that 
microcosm,  the  Salpetriere.  Henceforward  he 
could  not  complain  of  lack  of  variety  or  quantity 
of  subjects.  It  was  at  that  time  a  huge  disorgan- 
ized institution,  known  to  the  literary  world  at 
large  through  the  medium  of  Prevost's  "  Manon 
Lescaut."  From  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  to  the 
end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  it  harbored  all  the 
incurables  of  mind  or  body,  in  addition  to  the 
modern  Magdalens  in  France.  Up  to  the  time  of 
the  Revolution  it  was  Bedlam ;  nor  was  there  any 
very  noticeable  improvement  until  Charcot  took 
charge  in  1862.  He  left  it  an  organized,  rational 
institution. 

It  may  be  asserted  as  an  axiom  that  all  great 
men  of  science  have  worked  backward.  From 
the  study  of  the  parasite  they  have  been  led  to  the 
study  of  the  afflicted  root  or  essence.  Gout  and 
rheumatism  led  Charcot  back  to  the  study  of  their 
concomitant  nervous  disorders  and  to  the  research 
for  the  possible  causes.  In  1872  he  began  a 
course  of  lectures  on  hysteria,  so  thoroughly  sup- 
ported by  proof,  so  patiently  elaborated  point  after 
point,  with  such  a  plethora  of  observations  and 
notes,  that  his  disciples  were  both  amazed  and 
carried  away  with  enthusiasm,  —  not  the  enthusi- 


88  JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT 

asm  born  of  oratory,  but  that  of  conviction.  The 
laboratory  and  its  indisputable  results  furnished 
the  only  arguments.  Every  experiment  told,  and 
every  experiment  was  proved  by  repetition ;  its 
results  were  strengthened  by  a  series  of  develop- 
ments, each  one  helping  to  clinch  the  final  result. 
This  was  Charcot's  method ;  he  could  never  feel 
satisfied  to  teach  or  make  public  his  personal 
theories  until  their  value  was  thoroughly  demon- 
strated beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt  even  to 
himself.  Indeed,  this  very  conscientiousness,  this 
very  thoroughness  of  research,  are  alone  accounta- 
ble for  the  charges  of  cruelty  so  often  brought 
against  him ;  and  it  must  be  admitted  that,  for 
the  sake  of  truth,  he  often  considered  the  case  as 
more  important  than  the  subject,  the  disease  more 
interesting  than  the  individual.  The  admirers  of 
Vesale  are  loud  in  their  praise  of  his  studying 
"  man  by  means  of  man  himself."  Charcot  studied 
"  woman  by  means  of  woman,"  and  shall  this  be 
called  a  crime  ?  In  the  former  case  the  man,  to 
be  sure,  was  dead ;  but  Charcot's  patient  was 
asleep.  When,  as  often  happened,  the  charge  of 
lack  of  pity  towards  his  patient  was  made,  or 
when,  again,  he  was  accused  of  putting  his  hyster- 
ical subjects  to  unnecessarily  severe  and  frequent 
tests,  he  invariably  answered  :  "  It  is  by  facts,  and 
by  the  study  of  facts  alone,  that  I  can  reach  the 
truth  and  obtain  valuable  results." 

It  was  not  till  1882  that  Charcot  was  appointed 
professor  of  nervous  diseases.  For  twenty  years 
he  had  been  at  work  in  the  hospital  systematizing, 
organizing,   classifying,  coordinating   the   various 


JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT  89 

departments  and  the  documents  of  his  cases.  The 
catalogue  was  an  important  one  and  complete.  He 
had  subdivided  his  patients  into  distinct  categories, 
headed  "  senile,"  "  chronic,"  "  beginners,"  etc. ;  and 
(as  is  now  done  in  large  modern  libraries)  each 
patient  had  her  card  on  which  the  case  was  ana- 
lyzed and  finally  indexed.  Newly  arrived  patients, 
suffering  from  some  apparently  novel  form  of  dis- 
ease, were  at  once  examined  and  classified ;  after 
a  few  leading  questions,  Charcot  knew  exactly 
what  had  been  their  hospital  history  and  their 
pathological  evolution.  His  capacity  for  work  was 
extraordinary ;  he  superintended  everything  him- 
self, and  every  autopsy  was  carried  out  according 
to  his  directions,  after  he  had  made  a  personal 
examination  of  the  body. 

Every  morning  at  nine  he  left  his  hotel  in  the 
Boulevard  St.  Germain,  and  in  less  than  twenty 
minutes  his  stout  Percherons  brought  him  to  the 
door  of  the  "  City  of  Misery,"  into  which  he  had 
introduced  so  many  improvements  and  such  a  per- 
fect system.  His  influence  was  felt  directly  in 
every  department,  and  his  advice  became  law  even 
as  early  as  1866,  when,  the  lecture-hall  having 
proved  too  small,  he  annexed  the  hospital  kitchens, 
and  provided  room  for  an  additional  daily  attend- 
ance of  five  hundred  students. 

He  was  unusually  clever  with  his  pencil,  and  his 
facility  in  drawing  was  of  great  help  to  him  in 
his  lectures  on  hysteria.  Without  interrupting 
the  spoken  text  he  would  draw  figures  on  the  black- 
board—  say,  for  instance,  two  woman's  bodies, 
the  one  a  face,  the  other  a  back  view,  and  without 


90  JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT 

a  pause  in  his  delivery  lie  would  mark  on  tlie  first 
the  fourteen  hysterical  points,  on  the  second  the 
four  centres  of  pain.  With  rare  method  he  classi- 
fied the  phenomena  probably  attributable  to  in- 
herited taints  or  deducible  from  any  other  cause, 
and  divided  them  under  two  main  headings  —  the 
higher  and  the  lesser  (or  simple)  hysteria.  At 
all  times  he  was  careful  to  refer  epileptic  phe- 
nomena to  a  class  of  their  own,  distinct  from  hyster- 
ical phenomena.  Under  simple  hysteria  we  find, 
for  instance,  the  very  common  case  so  distressing 
to  parents.  A  young  girl  of  eighteen  or  twenty, 
in  apparently  good  health  and  endowed  with 
a  strong  constitution,  suddenly  takes  it  into  her 
head  to  refuse  food.  At  first  it  appears  to  be  a 
mere  whim ;  the  patient  seems  to  be  neither  weak- 
ened nor  affected  in  other  ways  by  her  fasting ;  she 
continues  to  dance,  go  out,  and  amuse  herseK  as 
usual,  and  her  health  remains  apparently  normal. 
However,  little  by  little,  she  becomes  languid  and 
her  strength  begins  to  wane.  The  initial  —  pas- 
sive —  lack  of  appetite  has  now  developed  into  an 
active  abhorrence  of  any  form  of  nourishment, 
as  violent  as  the  abhorrence  of  liquids  produced 
by  hydrophobia.  The  mere  sight  or  smell  of  food 
causes  her  to  shrink  and  shiver.  She  becomes 
morbid,  torpid,  suffers  from  shortness  of  breath 
and  general  lack  of  strength;  her  nerves  are 
unstrung,  and  the  slightest  cold  develops  into 
pleurisy  ;  she  faints  frequently  under  no  apparent 
provocation,  and  the  fits  last  a  long  time ;  they  are 
sometimes  followed  by  convulsions  akin  to  epileptic 
fits.     She  is  on  the  brink  of  death,  and  yet,  techni- 


JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT  91 

cally  speaking,  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with 
her.  Now  is  the  time  to  consult  Charcot,  and  his 
advice  will  be  as  prompt,  as  valuable  as  that  of 
a  Dupuytren,  who  without  a  moment's  hesitation 
called  out  "  Cut  that  man  open  —  here !  "  ^  In  the 
case  of  our  young  girl  any  treatment  based  on  the 
presumption  of  epilepsy  would  prove  fatal.  Char- 
cot brings  a  new  force  to  bear ;  the  hysterical 
patient  has  contracted  habits  of  resistance,  which 
must  be  broken  by  still  stronger  insistence,  yet  in- 
directly :  by  complete  change  of  surroundings ;  by 
a  rigidly  enforced  isolation  from  the  home  atmo- 
sphere in  which  the  disease  developed.  In  other 
words,  a  psychical  treatment  is  required,  and  very 
generally  succeeds. 

A  physician  who  is  not  at  the  same  time  a 
philosopher  is  not  worthy  of  the  name.  Pity  on 
the  one  hand,  the  apparent  cruelty  required  by  the 
treatment  on  the  other,  must  both  be  met,  under- 
stood and  satisfied.  Neglect  of  either  considera- 
tion involves  failure,  often  death.  The  slightest 
excess  of  sympathy  for  the  individual  may  prove 
fatal,  but  too  rigid  an  enforcement  of  the  treat- 
ment may  prove  so  as  well.  Therefore,  to  deal 
with  such  diseases,  the  practitioner  must  at  the 
same  time  be  a  thinker,  and  an  observer  of  human- 
ity of  no  mean  capacity ;  Charcot  possessed  both 
the  skill  of  the  one,  and  the  instinct  of  the  other, 
to  a  remarkable  degree.  Indeed,  one  may  say  of 
some  of  his  lectures  that  they  are  important  con- 

1  This  was  a  celebrated  case  in  which  Dupuytren's  divina- 
tion saw  the  existence  of  an  internal  abscess  which  had 
escaped  all  the  doctors. 


92  JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT 

tributions  to  human  history  rather  than  mere  tech- 
nical dissertations ;  for  example,  his  study  entitled 
"  Parallele  entre  la  Medecine  moderne  et  la  Mede- 
cine  de  I'Antiquite." 

The  meddling  jade  Fortune  —  often  such  a  mis- 
chief-maker here  below  —  happened  in  Charcot's 
case  to  shuffle  the  cards  knowingly.  As  once  she 
had  dropped  an  apple  before  Isaac  Newton's  eyes, 
she  this  time  caused  the  so-called  Pavilion  Sainte 
Laure  to  drop  to  pieces.  Here  the  idiots,  the 
epileptic,  and  the  hysterical  patients  of  the  Salpe- 
triere  all  lived  together  indiscriminately.  When 
new  quarters  became  necessary  Charcot  distributed 
them  in  different  groups,  and  this  imperfect,  partly 
accidental  classification  was  the  starting-point  of 
the  great  discoveries  he  made  later,  to  which  his 
name  will  forever  remain  attached,  and  which 
established  once  and  for  all  the  fundamental  dis- 
tinction between  hysteria  and  epilepsy. 

The  daily  lectures  at  the  Salpetriere  soon  be- 
came inadequate,  and  Charcot  accepted  the  presi- 
dency of  the  Societe  d' Anatomic,  where  the  re- 
ports of  his  staff  were  added  to  the  vast  amount 
of  documents  at  his  command.  It  has  been  said 
of  him  that  one  of  his  chief  characteristics  was  an 
undue  thirst  for  notoriety,  and  that  the  quality 
of  his  work  was  impaired  thereby.  So  far  is  this 
from  being  true  that  we  must,  on  the  contrary,  la- 
ment the  paucity  of  his  publications.  His  first 
lectures  on  hysteria  we  owe  entirely  to  the  insis- 
tence, tact,  and  devotion  of  his  wife,  who  took 
notes,  and  edited  the  lectures.  She  also  organized 
his  household  so   that  he  never  knew  a  care  or 


JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT  93 

worry  in  his  home  life,  but  always  found  the  ab- 
solute rest  and  change  without  which  he  could 
never  have  made  such  constant  and  mighty 
draughts  upon  his  energy  as  the  Titanic  character 
of  his  work  demanded  daily.  It  was  not  until 
1887  that  Charcot  was  able  to  carry  out  a  dream 
of  many  years'  standing,  namely,  the  publication 
in  two  profusely  illustrated  quartos  of  his  work  on 
two  departments  of  human  misery,  "  Les  Malades 
et  les  Difformes  dans  I'Art "  and  "Les  Hyste- 
riques  et  les  Demoniaques."  In  the  first  of  these 
two  volumes  the  pitiful  history  of  the  victims  of 
rachitis,  of  the  dwarfs,  of  the  victims  of  syphilis 
and  all  such  as  cringe  and  suffer  under  the  tyrant 
lash  of  similar  curses  is  unfolded  systematically. 
Sculpture  as  well  as  painting  gives  its  testimony 
and  is  cross-examined.  The  grotesque  figure  of 
Santa  Maria  Formosa,  which  in  "  The  Stones  of 
Venice  "  Mr.  Euskin  attempts  to  crush  under  the 
weight  of  his  displeasure  (the  gargoyle,  by  the 
way,  is  still  in  place),  is  so  true  to  nature  that 
Charcot  declares  it  is  accurately  copied  from  life : 
"I  have  that  man  under  treatment  at  this  very 
moment,  and  liis  facial  convulsions  are  absolutely 
the  same  as  these."  Compare  the  two  sketches, 
the  one  of  the  mediaeval  monster,  the  other  of  the 
modern  man,  and  the  resemblance  is  striking. 

Constantly  bringing  to  bear  the  documents  of 
the  past  on  the  living  documents  of  to-day,  Char- 
cot works  out  the  history  of  human  monstrosity ; 
the  story  of  the  dwarfs  he  traces  downward  from 
the  Egyptian  god  Bes  to  Tom  Thumb,  through 
the  Bayeux  tapestries  to  the  mosaics  of  Ravenna, 


94  JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT 

classifying,  numbering,  docketing  the  dead  patients 
exactly  as  he  treats  his  living  ones.  Instancing 
"  The  Triumph  of  Death  "  (in  the  cemetery  of 
Pisa),  where  Taddeo  Gaddi  has  so  well  depicted 
various  forms  of  human  misery,  he  analyzes  them 
and  gives  his  diagnosis,  pointing  ovit  the  absolute 
realism  of  many  figures  supposed  to  be  only  fan- 
tastic ;  and  scientifically  he  compares  the  blind 
man  of  the  Scriptures,  so  often  drawn  by  Rajjhael 
in  his  Biblical  compositions,  with  the  blind  pa- 
tients under  his  direct  observation.  The  "  king's 
evil "  is  less  abundantly  portrayed  in  art ;  never- 
theless, through  his  friend  Dr.  Keller  ^  Charcot 
was  able  to  obtain  a  copy  of  the  picture  signed 
by  a  contemporary  of  Albrecht  Diirer  and  hang- 
ing in  the  museum  of  Colmar ;  it  represents  a  case 
so  truthfully  that  any  doctor  could  prescribe  for 
the  painted  joatient.  The  heroic  friend  of  the 
lepers  —  Miss  Marsden  —  would  find  food  for 
thought  in  the  page  representing  St.  Elizabeth 
washing  with  her  princely  hands  such  ghastly 
wounds  as  even  the  disciples  of  Miss  Nightingale 
might  fear  to  touch  ;  and  on  another  page  a  stu- 
dent of  the  plague  —  the  black  death  —  could 
analyze  in  detail  the  sufferings  of  St.  Roch. 

This  volume,  as  well  as  its  companion,  was 
written   by  Charcot  with   the   help  of   Dr.  Paul 

1  Keller  is  the  Preissnitz  of  Paris  ;  besides  being  unrivalled 
in  liis  application  of  hydrotherapeutics,  his  knowledge  of  art 
and  of  the  history  of  art  is  deep  and  varied.  In  his  work 
he  is  seconded  by  his  wife,  a  woman  of  unusual  attainments, 
whose  philosophical  essays  and  criticisms,  signed  "  Jeanniue," 
have  attracted  admiring  appreciation. 


JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT  95 

Richer  (who  should  not  be  mistaken  for  the  emi- 
nent professor,  Charles  Riehet,  whose  psychologi- 
cal work  is  as  well  known  in  France  as  that  of 
Charcot  himself),  and  the  work  marked  an  epoch. 
Before  Charcot's  day,  psychology  was  barely  re- 
cognized by  a  few  of  the  most  independent  scien- 
tific men  ;  it  was  absolutely  excluded  from  the 
universities  ;  and  among  the  people  it  was  gen- 
erally suj)posed  to  be  connected  with  sorcery  and 
the  black  arts.  This  connection  —  or  I  shoidd  say 
apparent  connection  —  with  magic  and  the  occult 
suggests  a  few  words  on  Charcot's  second  work  on 
nervous  diseases,  "  Les  Demoniaques,"  a  curious 
book,  fascinating  not  only  on  account  of  the  won- 
drous lore  contained  therein,  but  equally  so  be- 
cause of  the  Janus-like  attitude  of  the  author.  As 
long  as  Charcot  is  dealing  with  the  past  —  with 
the  "  obsessed,"  the  "  possessed,"  the  seers,  the 
prophets,  the  hallucinated  subjects  of  history  — 
he  speaks  with  an  echo  of  compassion  in  his  voice, 
and  even  perhaps  of  sympathy ;  and  without  these 
gentler  qualities  to  temper  criticism  the  scientific 
book  falls  dead,  lacking  the  human  element.  The 
man  as  well  as  the  savant  has  signed  these  pages, 
and  the  curiosity  of  the  jiractitioner,  the  eagerness 
of  the  analyst,  the  selfishness  of  the  discoverer, 
are  softened  by  a  certain  recognition  of  kinship,  of 
regret  for  the  unnecessary  suffering  endured,  the 
pity  of  the  man  who  might  have  helped  for  the 
very  helplessness  of  mankind.  This  is  the  senti- 
mental note  in  the  book,  where  the  author  looks 
back,  platonically,  impersonally.  It  is  an  artistic 
retrospect,  and  we  are  taught  to  understand  and 


96  JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT 

appreciate  certain  affinities  of  suffering,  their  per- 
sistence, their  uninterruptedness  throughout  the 
long  history  of  the  human  family,  as  described  to 
us  in  the  Bible,  or  painted  for  us  by  Raphael. 
But  suddenly  this  genial  current  is  interrupted  ;  we 
reach  the  present,  the  experimental  age,  —  the  Sal- 
petriere ;  and  the  expert,  the  professor,  the  imper- 
sonal manipulator  of  subjects  and  cases,  takes  the 
place  of  the  man. 

As  long  as  the  author  is  commenting  on  a  case 
through  the  medium  of  a  picture,  or  some  artistic 
historical  records,  be  it  as  far  back  as  1230,  when 
Quinto  Pisano  painted  the  saints  or  the  picture 
of  Francis  of  Assisi  casting  out  devils;  be  it 
the  more  realistic  picture  of  St.  Zeuo  canonizing 
the  daughter  of  a  Roman  emperor;  or  be  it  the 
somewhat  coarse  St.  Vitus's  Dance  of  the  Flemish 
painter,  —  the  directness,  the  lucidity  of  his  diag- 
nosis is  tempered  with  pity,  a  certain  unexpressed 
but  implied  commiseration.  As  soon,  however,  as 
the  evil  is  represented  not  by  a  work  of  art,  but 
by  a  work  of  God,  a  suffering  subject,  the  last 
vestige  of  fellow-feeling  vanishes  before  the  eager- 
ness, the  anxiety,  the  morbid  craving  for  new  data, 
new  discoveries.  The  plates  of  Dr.  Richer  retain 
their  intensely  pathetic  interest,  but  in  the  text  we 
cannot  find  one  ray,  one  degree  of  human  warmth ; 
we  cannot  restrain  our  own  pity,  nor  on  the  other 
hand  rebuke  our  amazement.  Human  beings, 
beings  like  ourselves,  are  shown  to  us,  bent  double 
in  frenzied  contortions,  heads  and  heels  meeting 
after  a  wild  struggle  of  passionate,  writhing  resist- 
ance to  some  superior  will.     Every  attitude  is  ex- 


JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT  97 

pressive  of  agony,  and  yet  the  subject  is  treated 
here  as  a  mere  phenomenon ;  its  antics  are  chroni- 
cled, or  rather  registered,  like  the  reading  of  the 
thermometer  or  the  variation  of  the  aneroid.  And 
the  pity  of  it !  This  impassive  attitude  of  scrutiny 
offends  and  wounds  our  better  sense,  for  some 
centuries  ago  there  came  among  the  poor,  the 
sick,  the  maimed,  and  the  halt.  One  who  was  a 
great  Healer,  and  His  ways  were  different  from 
these  ways,  and  we  have  learned  to  love  His  ways 
and  admire  them. 

Charcot's  life  was  so  full  that  it  is  not  easy  to 
condense  or  epitomize  it  in  a  short  article.  He 
was  a  many-sided  man;  after  the  physician  and 
the  professor  comes  necessarily  Charcot  in  his 
relations  to  hypnotism,  and  Charcot  the  head  of 
the  modern  neuropathic  school,  and  also  Charcot 
at  home  and  in  society. 

In  speaking  of  hypnotism  we  must  first  recall 
that  in  France  the  line  is  very  rigidly  drawn  be- 
tween scientific  psychology,  pathological  psycho- 
logy, and  speculative  psychology.  Indeed,  psycho- 
logy was  not  recognized  in  France  as  a  science 
until  well-known  men  had  established  its  relations 
with  physiology  and  proved  the  bearing  of  the 
one  upon  the  other.  Charcot  was  one  of  the  first 
to  repudiate  the  "  marvelous  "  element  in  psycho- 
logy, which  the  public  persisted  ignorantly,  but 
doggedly,  in  mistaking  for  the  science  itself.  In 
1882,  when  he  assumed  the  specialty  for  "nervous 
complaints,"  he  said  in  his  opening  speech  :  "  The 
study  of  psychical  phenomena  is  absolutely  de- 
pendent  on  the   knowledge   of   anatomy   and  of 


98  JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT 

physiology,  for  without  such  knowledge  it  is  out 
of  the  question  to  propound  a  rational  solution  of 
psychical  problems.  The  progress  of  knowledge, 
based  on  facts,  is  fast  reducing  the  meaning  of  the 
word  '  marvel '  to  a  lame  explanation  for  the  igno- 
rant; soon  the  word  will  have  become  obsolete." 

It  was  only  through  its  connection  with  physio- 
logy, therefore,  that  psychology  obtained  a  standing 
at  the  university,  and  only  on  the  basis  mens  sana 
in  corpore  sano,  the  two,  body  and  mind,  being 
interdependent.  Charcot,  apparently  a  skeptic, 
but  at  the  same  time  a  profound  student  of  the 
feminine  mind,  understood  early  what  a  mighty 
lever  faith  might  become,  if  ably  exploited,  above 
all  in  relation  to  women's  ailments.  In  his  admi- 
rable essay  "  La  Foi  qui  guerit "  (Faith  the  Healer), 
he  refers  not  to  the  faith  in  things  beyond,  but  to 
the  personal  faith  of  the  patient  in  his  doctor, 
adviser,  and  ultimate  curer.  His  knowledge  of 
the  feminine  heart  enabled  him  to  found  a  whole 
system  of  healing  upon  the  innate  love  of  woman 
for  her  particular  functions  in  life,  functions  of 
servitude  and  self-sacrifice.  Her  simple  faith  and 
love  enable  her  to  forget  or  lay  aside  the  mere 
animal  functions  of  the  mother  material,  and  to 
realize  in  spite  of  them  the  higher  ideal  of  the 
mother  spiritual. 

Charcot's  insight  into  woman's  moral  organism 
predestined  him  to  his  mission  as  woman-curer. 
There  were  two  origins  of  woman's  nervous  disor- 
ders, he  believed,  unequally  interesting  sentimen- 
tally speaking,  but  scientifically  of  parallel  impor- 
tance,—  excess   and   abstinence.     In   the   second 


JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT  99 

case  the  disorders  are  mostly  reactions  from  tlie 
moral  feelings  to  the  organism.  Far  from  assert- 
ing the  sole  supremacy  of  physiology,  he  willingly 
admitted  that  the  initial  cause  of  the  physical 
unbalancing  of  woman  is  more  often  in  the  moral 
nature ;  hence  his  mode  of  treating  most  of  these 
ailments  by  a  primary  appeal  to  faith  in  the  curer. 
This  mode  rarely  fails  where  the  disease  above  all 
is  principally  the  outcome  of  sorrow  and  heart- 
break. Charcot's  school  has  taken  from  its  head 
that  grand,  humanitarian,  philosophically  Chris- 
tian understanding  of  its  duties,  and  the  men  who 
have  received  Charcot's  impetus  have  remained 
faithful  to  the  generous  feeling  of  pity  and  interest 
toward  the  patient,  which  is  a  trait  of  the  modern 
scientists. 

The  great  Healer,  Christ,  asked  His  patients: 
"Have  ye  faith  in  Me?"  Charcot  commanded, 
"  Have  faith  in  me  and  I  can  cure  you."  For  the 
majority  of  cases  there  was  no  specific  remedy; 
the  remedy  that  cured  was  the  practical  one.  His 
patients  were  mostly  hysterical  women,  who,  like  a 
ship  at  sea  without  a  rudder,  were  drifting  help- 
lessly to  leeward.  He  began  by  saying  :  "  I  know 
your  case  thoroughly  and  I  know  that  I  can  cure 
you,  but  you  must  have  utter  confidence  in  me 
and  in  your  cure."  Often  this  was  all  the  treat- 
ment needed ;  faith  was  in  itself  a  relief ;  faith  in 
the  man  was  a  help,  and  eventually  the  patient's 
own  imagination,  aided  by  the  ordinary  hygienic 
methods,  completed  the  work  begun.  Speaking 
in  a  general  way,  hysterical  patients  are  of  two 
kinds,  the  honest  and  the  dishonest;  and  I  use 


100  JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT 

the  term  honest  because  it  is  a  flexible  word  cover- 
ing certain  distinctions  I  cannot  well  make  here. 
Of  the  dishonest  class  —  the  most  difficult  to  cure, 
because  of  the  unreliability  of  its  patients  —  we 
could  cite  cases  only,  not  types,  and  here  faith  and 
seK-respect  alone  can  be  of  the  slightest  use.  It 
is  with  the  honest  class  that  the  influence  of  men 
like  Charcot  is  most  needed,  most  quickly  felt, 
most  beneficial.  The  healer  brings  with  him  "  the 
faith  that  heals,"  and  the  apparent  miracle  is 
wrought :  if  the  patient  listens,  obeys,  and  is  con- 
vinced, the  cure  is  assured. 

The  mental  trouble  has  apparently  killed  the 
body ;  now  the  mental  trouble  must  be  set  aside, 
and  the  mind  itself  will  repair  the  ravages  it  has 
wrought.  However,  few  men  are  qualified  for 
such  work.  Apart  from  deep  and  varied  know- 
ledge, they  must  possess  an  unusual,  singular  char- 
acter made  up  of  apparent  contrasts.  Iron-handed, 
velvet-gloved,  they  must  rigidly  carry  out  their 
motto — Suaviter  in  modo,  fortiter  in  re.  They 
dare  not  make  a  single  concession,  nor  yet  be 
guilty  of  the  slightest  violence.  The  personal  in- 
terest of  the  master  —  for  in  this  case  he  is  a  mas- 
ter —  must  be  recognized  by  the  patient,  but  this 
interest  must  be  kept  within  such  exact  bounds 
that  no  personal  reminiscences  are  ever  revived, 
no  suggestion  of  even  the  remotest  personal  risk 
is  evoked ;  yet  the  flattery  of  being  studied  by  a 
master-mind  must  be  used  as  a  tonic.  I  have  seen 
many  such  resurrections,  and  among  them  I  re- 
member two  cases,  one  where  the  moral  being  was 
practically  dead,  and  there  the  physical  complica- 


JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT  101 

tions  were  such  that  a  single  crisis  of  insomnia 
lasted  eleven  days  and  nights,  during  which  the 
patient  was  never  for  one  moment  free^fi'oYn-  fcer 
or  delirium.  I  am  not  at  liberty-  *to  name  the 
eminent  professor  who  treated  her ;  1  Cdn?  raev^ly 
mention  that  he  was  of  the  school  I  have  been 
describing.  The  treatment  lasted  three  years,  and 
to-day  the  patient  is  able  to  do  intellectual  work 
of  the  highest  order,  and  for  so  many  hours  a  day 
that  few  men  could  stand  the  strain.  Compassion 
was  the  initial  remedy,  faith  the  first  result.  This 
patient  was  a  woman  of  strong  character,  of  a 
higlily  strung  temperament,  of  intelligence  and 
acquirements,  the  child  of  nervous  parents.  About 
the  same  time  —  and  I  have  given  these  details 
for  the  sake  of  contrasting  the  two  cases  —  the 
same  physiciau  was  treating  a  case  of  equally 
complete  prostration ;  but  here  the  patient  sprang 
from  a  different  race.  She  was  a  delicate,  rather 
lymphatic,  unexcitable  creature,  whom  sorrow  and 
the  misery  of  her  life  had  reduced  to  a  mere  skele- 
ton ;  her  physical  weakness  was  such  that  she 
could  leave  her  bed  but  for  a  few  hours  at  a  time, 
and  yet  to-day,  after  a  course  of  treatment  that 
lasted  two  years,  she  teaches  and  lectures  six  hours 
each  day  during  ten  months  of  the  year.  The 
master  who  achieved  these  resurrections  is  no  ordi- 
nary physician.  The  man  is  a  more  important 
factor  in  these  cures  than  the  doctor,  and  he  rarely 
fails  in  his  attempts.  He  is  at  the  head  of  one  of 
the  great  hospitals  of  Paris,  where  his  cures  among 
patients  of  the  lower  classes  are  as  astounding  and 
complete  as  those  I  have  quoted  from  among  his 


102  JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT 

clientele  elegante.  La  foi  qui  guerit  is  responsi- 
ble for  tlje  good  achieved  in  these  cases,  as  much 
a,s  therapeutics  and  hygiene. 

To  achiev^e  .such  results,  however,  no  mean  at- 
taii^ijagrit)  arQ  .required.  To  begin  with,  the  man  ; 
next,  wide  and  reliable  technical  knowledge ;  a 
clear  insight  into  human  nature ;  perfect  tact  and 
absolute  inflexibility  of  purpose  and  direction.  Of 
this  school  of  men  Charcot  was  the  founder  and 
high  priest.  There  are  many  —  as  there  yet  will 
be  many  —  who  owe  their  life  and  their  interest  in 
life  to  Charcot's  work,  and  for  whom  it  will  be 
impossible  ever  to  forget  that  the  university  pro- 
fessor, a  skeptic  by  right  of  surroundings  and  pro- 
fession, was  the  one  to  preach  the  faith  that  was 
to  make  them  sound.  To  heal  the  body  through 
the  mind,  to  make  the  body  again  the  physician  of 
the  mind,  was  indeed  an  inspired  concejition.  Not 
that  the  treatment  is  new,  for  many  a  case  might 
be  quoted  from  the  Scriptures.  But  this  is  not 
quite  the  same  kind  of  faith  cure,  nor  the  same 
kind  of  faith.  Charcot  was  the  missionary  of  the 
new  science  which  in  our  days  has  worked  marvels 
in  the  dark  province  of  hysteria.  Before  his  day 
it  was  a  forbidden  waste,  on  the  threshold  of  which 
Dante's  desperate  lines  could  have  been  written ; 
now  the  liberator  has  come. 

Hypnotism  and  hypnotic  suggestion  are  no  new 
themes.  We  have  records  of  such  practices  in  the 
very  oldest  annals  of  human  history,  but  the  com- 
passionate element  was  usually  neglected  and  the 
effect  or  cure  was  rather  fortuitous  than  scientific. 
Charcot  imagined  the  test  of   sympathy.     None 


JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT  103 

love  suffering,  few  are  not  eager  to  be  relieved 
therefrom.  The  suggestion  of  Charcot  is  one  of 
relief,  hence  acceptable  at  the  outset,  to  say  the 
least.  Whether  suggestion  is,  however,  really  bene- 
ficial to  the  patient  or  the  reverse  will  for  some 
time  to  come  remain  scientifically  a  disputed  ques- 
tion, to  be  solved  only  by  means  of  the  results 
which  may  be  obtained. 

Now  that  we  have  sketched  Charcot  as  doctor, 
professor,  and  therapeutist,  as  the  propounder  of 
doctrines  new  and  the  destroyer  of  doctrines  obso- 
lete, it  seems  opportune  to  say  a  word  of  Charcot 
the  man  of  the  world.  Like  all  men  predestined 
to  rule  over  others,  —  and  few  monarchs  have  ruled 
"  with  right  of  life  and  death  "  as  Charcot  did,  — 
he  was  born  with  an  innate  love  for  art  and  refine- 
ment. He  had  read  deeply  and  travelled  much ; 
his  grasp  of  new  and  varied  subjects  was  as  re- 
markable as  the  keenness  of  his  observation.  His 
personal  appearance  was  that  of  a  chief :  he  car- 
ried his  head  high,  and  there  was  something  very 
proud,  even  domineering,  in  the  poise  of  the  mas- 
sive head  and  finely  chiseled  profile.  He  was  at 
home  on  Tuesday  evenings,  when  all  the  intellec- 
tual lights  of  Paris  called;  to  each  he  talked  his 
own  language,  as  an  equal.  The  professor,  the  in- 
quisitor, vanished  before  the  enthusiast,  and  it  was 
then  that  you  learned  to  know  the  man.  Impas- 
sive, keen,  even  hard  in  manner  before  the  patient, 
whom  he  dissected  mentally  as  coldly  as  the  sur- 
geon performs  an  operation,  he  was  singularly  open- 
hearted  and  sympathetic  at  home.  He  talked  well, 
with  the  vivacity  of  youth  and  the  enthusiasm  of 


104  JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT 

the  artist.^  There  were  no  small  or  mean  traits  in 
his  character,  and  whatever  he  did,  he  did  in  a 
large,  noble  manner,  with  a  fine  energy  upheld  by 
a  powerful,  inflexible  will.  His  gaze  was  singularly 
fixed,  stern,  somewhat  hard,  but  clear  and  unflinch- 
ing ;  he  looked  at  you,  not  above  or  beyond  you,  — 
indeed,  through  you.  He  loved  his  home,  where  he 
was  serenely  happy  in  the  love  of  an  admirable 
woman  and  of  their  two  children.  On  that  thresh- 
old the  professor  disappeared ;  the  man,  the  kindly 
philosopher,  the  animated  artist  alone  remained. 
His  work  will  endure  because  it  is  not  founded  on 
mere  hypotheses,  but  is  the  result  of  long,  keen, 
and  critical  observation  of  life  itself.  Nervous 
diseases,  as  I  have  said  above,  are  not  a  recent 
discovery,  for  the  Bible  and  the  histories  of  all  ages 
quote  innumerable  examples ;  but  the  disease  was 
merely  as  yet  mentioned,  not  understood.  Charcot 
classed  the  ailment,  analyzed  it,  and  established 
its  true  significance  and  importance.  His  dis- 
coveries compelled  the  creation  of  a  special  pro- 
fessorship for  the  teaching  of  the  phenomena  at 
the  university,  and  there  he  proclaimed  the  indi- 
viduality of  epilepsy,  insanity,  and  hysteria,  showed 
their  apparent  relations,  proved  their  real  differ- 
ences. 

Alexandre  Dumas  Jils  once  said  to  one  of  the 
most  eminent  critics  of  the  "Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes  :  "  "  After  the  generation  of  heroes  of  my 

^  Indeed,  he  was  an  artist  himself;  from  his  travels  he 
brought  back  remarkably  fine  sketches,  and  himself  drew 
the  designs,  suggested  by  these  sketches,  for  the  decoration 
of  his  dinner  service. 


JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT  105 

father's  day,  it  was  rational  to  expect  a  generation 
of  nervous  sufferers."  But  this  generalization  is 
not  sufficiently  broad,  and  the  whole  romantic 
school  should  be  included.  We  cannot  well  ima- 
gine how  Antony,  Lelia,  Rolla,  could  have  produced 
healthy,  well-balanced  children,  endowed  with  nor- 
mal constitutions.  The  generation  of  fathers  who, 
as  they  put  it,  had  "  followed  the  impulses  of  their 
hearts,"  in  reality  merely  the  dictates  of  their  pas- 
sions, weakened  the  following  generations.  The 
grandfathers  had  been  men  of  a  different  mould, 
sanguine,  plethoric,  suffering  from  an  excess  of 
vitality,  so  that  blood-letting  and  debilitants  were 
as  much  in  vogue  then  as  are  iron,  the  coal-tar 
series,  and  tonics  of  various  descriptions  now. 

A  man's  living  to-day  depends  rather  on  seden- 
tary work  than  on  active,  out-of-door  exertion.  It 
is  the  brain  rather  than  the  body  that  must  be 
trained,  and  the  body  pays  the  expense ;  the  doctor 
is  a  tutor  or  adviser.  And  as  supply  and  demand 
seems  to  be  the  fundamental  law  of  human  pro- 
duction, there  has  arisen  a  generation  of  men  like 
Broca,  Claude  Bernard,  Charcot,  who  examine  the 
anatomy  of  the  mind  as  well  as  that  of  the  body, 
needing  philosophical  instruments  unknown  to 
Ambroise  Pare  and  Fagon.  It  would  seem  that 
the  philosopher  Marcus  Aurelius,  even  though 
surrounded  by  the  darkness  of  his  time,  had  fore- 
seen this  evolution  when  he  wrote  :  "  The  higher 
soul  must  use  the  eyes  of  reason  to  see  through 
matter." 

Among  modern  scientists  Charcot  is  p&rhaps  the 
one  who  saw   through  matter  with  the   clearest 


106  JEAN  MARTIN  CHARCOT 

vision.  His  work  is  as  important  to  the  human 
family  as  the  work  of  Pasteur.  Could  anything 
more  be  added  to  his  praise  ?  Charcot  in  reality 
has  been  the  revealer  of  a  mode  of  treatment  which 
yearly  sends  back  to  usefulness  and  duty  human 
beings  whom  former  methods  would  have  sterilized 
by  shutting  them  out  of  activity.  The  great  pro- 
fessor has  eminently  localized  into  "  phases  "  an 
ailment  which  by  its  nature,  and  in  woman's  case 
above  all,  is  mostly  ephemeral,  and  of  a  transitory 
nature.  Science  has  received  much  from  Charcot, 
but  woman  has  received  more.  The  mother,  the 
wife,  who,  after  a  short  period  of  care,  comes  back 
to  her  hearth  a  happy  woman,  should  bless  the 
great  professor's  name  ;  for  to  him,  and  to  him 
alone,  she  owes  her  escape  from  confinement  in 
some  asylum,  where  in  former  days  so  many  were 
placed  and  where  they  remained,  forgotten,  long 
after  the  ailment  had  disappeared  forever. 


PAUL  BOURGET 


Suave  elegances  ;  little  barons  and  countesses ; 
white-and-pink  tailor-dressed  blondes ;  swells  who 
sport  themselves  with  equal  "  sveltness "  under  a 
Palermo  sun  or  in  a  London  fog  ;  dreams  of  deep 
foliage  in  gorgeous  conservatories ;  soft  lamps, 
capped  by  shades  of  supple  silk ;  yachts,  resplen- 
dent with  golden  ornaments,  replete  with  luxuries 
of  all  kinds,  and  bright  with  feminine  beauty  of 
various  types,  —  real  floating  strong-boxes,  the 
property  of  wonderful  Americans  whose  hearts  are 
as  rich  in  beautiful  and  delicate  feelings  as  are 
their  bank-accounts  in  redundant  ciphers,  —  such 
are  the  personages  and  the  surroundings  Bourget 
loves  to  introduce  and  describe  in  his  novels. 

An  intense  care  for  souls  seems  only  to  have  in- 
creased our  author's  preoccupation  about  things  ; 
and  though  physiology  has  not  with  him,  as  with 
the  Goncourts  and  with  Zola,  encroached  upon 
psychology,  yet  upholstery,  dress,  fashions,  and 
"  five-o'clocks  "  occupy  a  most  prominent  position 
in  all  his  books.  Thus  it  happens  that  most  of 
Bourget's  personages  express  their  inner  being 
more  by  their  tastes  than  by  their  feelings ;  these 
tastes  themselves  being  so  strongly  influenced  by 
the  atmosphere  of  frivolity  surrounding  them  that, 
freed  from  its  pressure,  their  possessors  might  be- 


108  PAUL  BOURGET 

come  quite  different  persons.  We  can  imagine  a 
Noemie  Hurtrel  (L'Irreparable),  for  instance,  an 
Helene  Chazel  (Un  Crime  d' Amour),  or  an  Ely 
de  Carlsberg  (Une  Idylle  tragique)  entirely  other 
than  what  they  are,  if  the  surplus  of  money  and 
leisure  which  leads  to  their  errors  were  taken  from 
them  —  especially  Noemie  Hurtrel,  who,  betrayed 
by  a  libertine,  proves  herself  victorious  over  the 
commonly  resulting  deterioration  of  character; 
thus  showing  what  elements  of  real  individuality 
resided  in  her,  could  she  but  have  freed  herself 
from  the  empty  frivolity  of  her  surroundings. 
Bourget's  heroes  and  heroines  follow  but  too  often 
the  moral  bent  of  their  circumstances.  This  sub- 
ordination of  the  inner  personality  to  the  outward 
pressure  of  entourage  leads  at  times  to  strange 
conclusions  ;  as  in  the  case  of  Helene  Chazel,  when 
she  speaks  admiringly  to  de  Querne  of  her  past 
purity:  "Quand  je  me  suis  donnee  a  vous  j'etais 
si  pure.  Je  n'avais  rien,  rien  sur  ma  conscience." 
If  Helene  Chazel,  the  prototype  of  hysterical  amo- 
rous fantasy,  and  de  Querne,  the  perfection  of  cold- 
heartedness,  are  true  representatives  of  modern 
lovers  in  the  France  of  the  nineteenth  century,  the 
depopulation  of  that  country  should  be  looked  upon 
as  a  blessing.  The  posterity  of  such  a  couple  could 
only  be  regarded  as  calamitous.  As  to  Mme.  de 
Carlsberg,  who  is  introduced  as  a  romantic  type 
of  the  woman  a  grandes  passions,  what  shall  the 
reader  infer  of  these  grandes  joassions  when,  be- 
fore he  has  reached  the  third  chapter  of  the  book, 
he  discovers  that  she  is  already  entering  with 
Hautef euille  on  her  third  love  experience  ?     Now, 


PAUL  BOURGET  109 

without  going  back  to  Merimee's  "Carmen,"  it 
would  be  a  matter  of  difficulty  to  find  among  tbe 
fathers  of  romance  in  France  one  who  would  trust 
in  the  reader's  good  will  enough  to  beg  for  his 
interest  and  sympathy  in  favor  of  a  lady  whose 
grandes  passions  are  as  multifarious  as  her  ca- 
prices, and  who  really  designates  as  "  passions " 
what  scarcely  deserve  a  name  at  once  so  grave  and 
so  implicitly  tragic.  Incoherence  of  character  is 
met  with  in  Bourget's  novels  not  only  with  regard 
to  women,  but  quite  as  commonly  with  his  men. 
De  Querne,  for  example,  is  sketched  as  a  roue  and 
a  Lovelace ;  but  he  suddenly  becomes  a  Vincent 
de  Paul,  and  this  transformation  of  a  Don  Juan 
into  a  henpecked  lover  is  no  less  a  matter  of  won- 
derment to  the  reader  than  the  curious  quality  of 
the  grandes  passions  of  Mme.  de  Carlsberg. 

Kegarded  in  the  treble  character  of  poet,  critic, 
and  novelist,  Bourget  strikes  one  as  being  truer  to 
himself  as  a  critic  —  in  his  studies  of  contemporary 
writers,  for  instance  —  than  he  is  as  a  novelist. 
His  essays  on  contemporary  psychology  are  truer 
to  life  and  less  characterized  by  contradictions  than 
the  psychology  of  some  of  his  fictitious  personages. 
The  emotional  world  is  not  his  natural  fathei'land : 
the  world  of  passion  comes  to  him  rather  through 
the  imagination  than  through  the  feelings.  It  is 
in  the  brain- world,  in  the  intellect  proper,  that  he 
dwells  more  naturally.  "  Beauty,"  he  writes,  "  is 
made  up  of  lyrism,  of  the  splendor  of  what  the  eye 
can  see,  of  the  magic  of  dreams."  Dreams,  power 
of  evocation,  lyrism,  —  three  decided  operations  of 
the  brain  rather  than  of  the  feelings.     The  gift  of 


110  PAUL  BOURGET 

observation  itself,  according  to  him,  is  but  the  re- 
sult of  the  atavism  of  confession  among  Roman 
Catholics,  the  outcome  of  the  habit  of  self-exami- 
nation,—  another  brain-sport,  which  in  his  eyes 
has  led  to  the  knowledge  of  others  through  the 
study  of  self.  This  last  conclusion,  as  to  confes- 
sion leading  to  depth  of  observation,  appears 
dubious,  inasmuch  as  it  is  uncertain  whether  the 
parents  of  Balzac,  of  George  Sand,  or  of  Dumas 
were  practicers  of  the  rite.  Moreover,  what  would 
become  of  all  the  English  school  of  romancers 
—  Eichardson,  Fielding,  Sterne,  George  Eliot  — 
if  Protestants,  who  do  not  confess,  were  to  be 
bereft  of  the  literary  gifts  which,  according  to 
Bourget,  confession  alone  can  confer  ?  Whether 
or  not  the  practice  of  self-examination,  in  view  of 
such  religious  act,  is  beneficial  to  the  romancer's 
mission  as  an  observer  of  humanity,  remains  un- 
answered ;  but  that  the  power  of  observation  in 
itself  is  held  by  Bourget  as  the  main  gift  of  the 
novelist,  his  works  sufficiently  show.  With  Bour- 
get the  intellectual  effort  is  held  above  the  impulse 
of  natural  inspiration.  A  man  of  great  parts,  of 
observation ;  a  reproducer  of  what  he  sees,  a 
sketcher  of  what  he  reads,  far  more  than  a  sensi- 
tive philosopher  who,  subordinating  his  emotional 
capacities  to  the  modification  of  his  reason,  writes 
the  history  of  incidents  gone  through  and  of  pas- 
sions experienced,  —  such  appears  Bourget  the 
novelist. 

Men  and  women  the  luxury  and  leisure  of  whose 
social  position  naturally  lead  to  a  life  of  emptiness 
are  those  whom  Bourget  chooses  most  frequently 


PAUL  BOURGET  111 

to  depict.  Vainly  in  all  his  works  should  we  seek 
the  study  of  a  rural  individuality  such  as  Balzac, 
Mme.  Sand,  George  Eliot,  have  immortalized.  Let 
us  but  alter  in  imagination  the  worldly  circum- 
stances of  a  Suzanne  Moraines  (Mensonges),  or  an 
Ely  de  Carlsberg,  and  we  at  once  strike  at  the 
very  source  of  their  moral  life.  If  we  suppose 
these  ladies  deprived  of  money  and  overburdened 
with  home  duties,  we  at  once  destroy  the  very 
essence  of  their  passion-life  ;  as  this  finds  its  root 
only  in  the  outward  worldly  exchange  of  parties 
and  meetings,  which  cannot  exist  without  an  abun- 
dance of  money  and  with  no  work  to  do.  Every 
incident  in  the  heart-life  of  Bourget's  heroes  and 
heroines  is  subservient  to  this  or  that  worldly 
circumstance,  which  will  bring  together  or  tear 
asunder  the  loving  couples  whose  reunion  or  sepa- 
ration is  generally  dependent  upon  social  evolu- 
tion. On  the  other  hand,  what  has  the  world  to 
say  to  an  Eugenie  Grandet's  feelings,  to  an  Adam 
Bede's  emotions,  to  an  Emma  Bovary's  desires? 
These  characters  are  human.  They  bear  the  stamp 
of  no  period,  the  fashions  of  no  epoch.  They  who 
invented  them  searched  for  their  patterns  among 
human  hearts.  Bourget's  personages,  on  the  con- 
trary, are  essentially  factitious  ;  they  move  in  an 
atmosphere  redolent  of  opoponax  and  musk.  Their 
emotions  emanate  from  their  brains  long  before 
they  are  felt  by  their  hearts. 

The  social  milieu  in  which  Bourget's  men  de- 
velop is,  it  should  be  mentioned  to  a  foreign  reader, 
the  least  really  French  that  can  be  imagined. 
Long  before  he  wrote  his  "  Cosmopolis"  our  author 


112  PAUL  BOURGET 

lived  in,  and  inspired  himself  from,  the  rich  Israel- 
itish  colony  resident  in  Paris.  Mone}'-,  beauty, 
culture,  are  to  be  found  in  that  society,  and 
precisely  in  the  order  in  which  I  mention  them: 
namely,  money,  as  the  autocrat ;  beauty,  as  the 
means  to  money ;  and  culture,  as  the  servant  of 
both  —  or  more  truly  as  the  spice,  the  relish  which 
comes  in  opportunely  to  testify  to  the  omnipotence 
of  money  and  to  show  how  well-arranged  dinners 
and  ably-managed  receptions  bring  the  pride  of 
Horaces  to  compromise  in  our  days,  as  they  did  in 
the  time  of  Augustus.  From  this  very  "  goldy  " 
society,  where  truffles  pave  the  road  to  orders  for 
paintings,  and  the  smiles  of  love  buy  at  a  cheaper 
rate  the  homage  of  Academicians  ;  from  this  par- 
ticularly un-French  society,  where  the  only  father- 
land is  wealth,  has  Bourget  taken  most  of  his 
types.  As  Emma  Bovary,  Germinie  Lacerteux,  or 
Denise  ("  Au  Bonheur  des  Dames,"  by  Zola)  are 
unmistakably  good  or  bad,  yet  nevertheless  true^ 
types ;  just  as  these  personages  are  French,  and 
necessarily  French,  so,  on  the  other  hand,  Suzanne 
Moraines,  Helene  Chazel,  Noemie  Hurtrel,  are 
cosmopolitanized  Frenchwomen,  —  women  who, 
though  brought  up  and  living  in  Paris,  have  been 
thrown  so  much  among  un-French  elements  as  to 
lose  the  characteristics  of  their  race. 

"La  Fran^aise  est  avant  tout  une  femme  de 
tete."  I  will  not  discuss  here  the  question  of  the 
merits  or  demerits  which  this  assertion  involves  : 
I  simply  state  the  fact.  In  following  her  reason 
the  Frenchwoman  comes  to  self-denial  as  often  as 
she  might  do  in  following  nobler  feelings ;  never- 


PAUL  BOURGET  113 

theless  the  basis  of  her  character  is  reason.  In 
the  name  of  reason  she  marries ;  in  the  name  of 
reason  she  hoards ;  in  the  name  of  reason  she 
even  lies.  Now,  reason  being  eminently  opposed 
to  mere  sensual  enjoyment,  none  can  be  farther 
from  an  Eugenie  Grandet  or  a  Mme.  Marneffe 
than  an  Helene  Chazel  or  a  Noemie  Hurtrel.  Bal- 
zac's heroines,  whether  in  the  order  of  passion  or 
in  the  order  of  virtue,  always  fight,  and  sometimes 
conquer.  Bourget's  heroines  are  mostly  possessed 
of  that  Semitic  indifference  and  laisser  aller  in  the 
moral  world  which  is  a  remnant  of  Orientalism. 

Enjoyment  by  all  bodily  means  is  the  natural 
tendency  of  modern  Jewish  society,  newly  admitted 
to  and  intoxicated  by  the  privileges  of  equality 
with  those  wlio,  not  a  century  ago,  burned  and 
hanged  them ;  and  from  this  society  Bourget  drew 
the  concepts  of  most  of  his  feminine  types.  Of 
the  austere,  mass-going,  humbly  dressed  grande 
dame  fran^aise,  Bourget's  novels  are  ignorant. 
Cosmopolis  is  his  world.  His  mission  has  been  to 
initiate  the  French  reader  into  cosmopolitan  Paris 
society.  Even  when  his  ladies  seem  French  they 
are  not  so,  in  their  souls  or  in  their  habits. 
Bourget  is  a  subtle  psychologist ;  but  the  psy- 
chology he  practices  in  most  of  his  types  is  the 
psychology  of  a  rather  newly  modified  French  per- 
sonality. A  foreigner,  after  reading  his  books, 
would  fancy  he  had  there  approached  real  French 
society,  and,  being  unable  to  reconcile  in  any  way 
the  outlines  of  Balzac's  personages  with  those  of 
Bourget,  —  the  difference  of  time  and  period  not 
accounting  sufficiently  for  the  gulf  between  them, 


114  PAUL  BOURGET 

—  would  naturally  conclude  either  that  these  ro- 
mancers cannot  have  painted  personages  of  the 
same  country,  or  that  one  of  them  is  inexact. 

Another  peculiarity  in  Bourget,  very  suggestive 
of  the  modifications  undergone  by  young  viveurs 
of  our  time,  is  the  way  in  which  his  heroes,  de 
Querne  and  du  Prat,  for  instance,  before  ending 
in  a  vague  humanitarianism,  turn  to  a  no  less 
Tolstoi-ism,  —  in  fact  to  that  kind  of  idealistic  anx- 
iety which  has  come  to  novel-writers  in  France 
through  Ibsen  and  the  Northern  School.  Flaubert 
as  well  as  Balzac,  and  Maupassant  equally  with 
Flaubert, — both  being  French  to  the  core, — 
have  introduced  metaphysical  suggestions  in  their 
human  studies ;  but  more  than  any  other,  the 
psychologist  of  modern  modified  Frenchmen  and 
Frenchwomen  is  Paul  Bourget.  Let  the  foreign 
reader  see  in  him  the  very  faithful  painter  of  a 
fraction  of  Parisian  society  essentially  modified 
by  Israelitish  and  cosmopolitan  elements;  of  a 
world  which  is  not  what  the  French  call  "la 
societe  ; "  of  a  world  where  wealth  plays  the  part 
of  birth  in  the  Old  France,  and  of  brain-power  in 
the  rising  democracy.  Remembering  that  the 
pleasure-mad  ladies  and  their  empty-headed  and 
empty-hearted  lovers  whom  Bourget  portrays  are 
illustrations  only  of  a  very  small  minority  of  what 
Paris  can  boast  in  the  way  of  un-French  French 
people,  foreigners  who  read  "  Mensonges,"  "  Un 
Crime  d'Amour,"  "  Une  Idylle  tragique,"  etc.,  run 
no  risk  of  believing  that  Suzanne  Moraines  and 
Helene  Chazel  are  types  of  the  ordinary  French 
hourgeoise  in  good  society.     That  there  exist  num- 


PAUL  BOURGET  115 

bers  of  Suzanne  Moraines  among  the  best  and 
choicest  of  social  groups  is  not  to  be  denied  ;  but 
to  assert  that  venality  in  gallantry  is  as  common 
with  a  certain  order  of  the  French  world  as  in 
other  countries  would  be  a  great  error. 

The  world  which  Bourget  has  mostly  painted  is, 
as  I  have  said,  very  un-French :  it  is  a  world  of 
pleasure  and  of  pleasure  only.  Bourget  does  not 
dwell,  like  Flaubert  or  Balzac,  among  all  species 
of  humanity,  among  provincials  and  Parisians, 
among  poor  and  wealthy,  among  nobles  and  bur- 
ghers ;  no,  Bourget  is  the  psychologist  of  a  society. 
He  very  subtly,  very  delicately,  and  very  power- 
fully paints  the  men  and  women  of  his  country 
who,  by  living  as  much  as  they  can  out  of  the 
sphere  of  their  own  natural  surroundings,  by  rush- 
ing to  Monte  Carlo,  to  Cowes,  to  Rome,  or  any- 
where, drawn  away  by  their  own  ennui  and 
frivolity,  become  as  unlike  their  native  race  as 
can  well  be  imagined. 

Psychology  proper  is  Bourget's  best  field  of 
work  ;  and,  therefore,  before  considering  his  no- 
vels, I  shall  first  examine  his  studies  on  his  contem- 
poraries. His  "  Essais  de  Psychologic  contempo- 
raine  "  are  certainly  among  the  best  titles  to  fame 
of  a  writer  whose  critical  faculties  are  far  superior 
to  his  powers  of  imagination. 


Bourget  is  a  living  antithesis  to  Zola.  There 
is  not  a  personage,  not  a  situation  in  his  books, 
but  is  radically  in  opposition  to  what  Zola  would 


116  PAUL  BOURGET 

have  made  of  it.  Zola  deals  mostly  with  the  un- 
educated classes ;  Bourget's  first  care,  on  the  con- 
trary, seems  to  be  that  his  heroes  shall  be  wealthy 
and  uncommon.  Remarkable  has  been  the  suc- 
cess which  has  greeted  Bourget,  from  the  very 
commencement  of  his  career ;  no  long  fight  with 
ill  fortune,  but  success  from  the  appearance  of 
his  first  verses,  "La  Vie  inquiete,"  "Les  Aveux," 
"  Edel,"  etc.  Indeed,  all  his  earlier  writings  met 
with  immediate  appreciation.  Of  the  "  Essais  de 
Psychologic  contemporaine,"  the  studies  of  Baude- 
laire, of  Taine,  of  Renan,  are  the  best. 

In  his  "  Baudelaire  "  our  author  starts  with  the 
destruction  of  all  the  received  theories  about 
healthy  or  unhealthy  literature.  "  There  is  no 
such  thing  as  health,  or  the  contrary,  in  the  world 
of  the  soul,"  writes  Bourget  to  the  unmetaphysical 
observer.  Our  troubles,  our  faculties,  our  virtues, 
our  vices,  our  sacrifices,  our  volitions,  are  mere 
changeful  and  variegated  combinations,  —  normal 
hecause  changeful.  There  exist  no  healthy  or  un- 
healthy loves.  Why  should  the  loves  of  Daphnis 
and  Chloe  be  in  any  way  healthier  than  the  loves 
described  by  Baudelaire  ?  An  overcrowded  and 
meanly  furnished  boudoir  is  in  no  wise  more  or 
less  healthy  than  the  trees  under  which  Chloe 
meets  her  pastoral  mate.  In  humanity  health  is 
never  transferable  to  the  psychological  regions. 
Baudelaire  appears  to  Bourget  as  the  one  who  has 
understood  and  painted  the  ennui  of  his  period,  — 
the  yawnings  and  gapings  of  the  refined  monster, 
due  above  all  to  the  complications  of  modern  life, 
the  over-refinement  of  our  tears,  and  the  sophisti- 


PAUL  BOURGET  117 

cated  nature  of  our  gayeties,  which  have  made  us 
morally  euphuists  of  the  inner  life.  "  C'est  de  la 
preciosite  morale."  Bourget's  Baudelaire  is  a  liv- 
ing and  very  true  likeness  because  quite  a  literary 
one,  devoid  of  any  cantish  redites  about  Baude- 
laire the  man. 

Our  author's  taste  for  wealthy  society  betrays 
itself  in  an  aristocratic  preference,  which  makes 
Renan  dear  to  him  above  all  others  ;  for  Renan  is 
an  enemy  to  the  illiterate.  With  regard  to  Re- 
nan's  exegetic  performances,  Bourget  disclaims 
any  enthusiasm.  Faith  to  him  is  and  must  remain 
simple  and  childlike.  Renan's  dazzling  rhetoric 
is  too  literary ;  meaning  by  that,  perhaps,  rather 
unevangelical.  But,  then,  Renan  is  such  a  writer ! 
And  style  is  in  itself  an  aristocracy. 

Whatever  the  gap  between  Baudelaire  and 
Renan,  it  is  not  greater  than  the  distance  between 
the  classically  critical  ability  of  a  Bourget  and 
the  powerfidly  creative  gifts  of  a  Flaubert.  Still, 
Bourget's  admiration  for  the  "Norman  bear"  is 
deep  and  sincere  ;  and  if  his  natural  bent  necessa- 
rily leads  him  to  the  cult  of  cleverness  rather  than 
to  that  of  spontaneous  genius,  Flaubert  neverthe- 
less receives,  under  Bourget's  pen,  a  treatment  in 
no  way  offensive  to  his  worshipers.  Flaubert 
should  have  been  seen  pacing  his  study,  Chateau- 
briand in  hand,  quoting  aloud  whole  passages  of 
"Atala."  One  of  his  favorite  paragraphs  was, 
"  Among  the  secular  oaks  the  dazzling  moon  in- 
discreetly reveals  to  the  wild  old  shores  the  mys- 
teries of  nature."  "  Images,"  writes  Bourget, 
"  with  Flaubert,  always  preceded  the  actual  expe- 


118  PAUL  BOURGET 

rience."  Flaubert  painted  chiefly  from  his  own 
intellectual  conceit  rather  than  from  remembrance. 
Images  and  sound,  *.  e.,  the  sonority  of  a  written 
phrase,  were  the  inspiring  principles  of  the  author 
of  "  Salammbo."  "  I  know,"  he  would  say,  "  the 
worth  of  a  phrase  only  after  I  have  sung  it  to 
myself."  This  undercurrent  of  lyrism  in  Flaubert 
himself  accounts  for  the  dreams  and  aspirations 
with  which  he  has  imbued  Emma  Bovary's  wishes. 
In  fact,  lyrism  is  a  fundamental  leit  motif  in 
"  Madame  Bovary  "  and  in  "  L'Education  senti- 
mentale :  roman  d'un  jeune  homme."  Flaubert's 
personages  are  overthinkers  :  they  die  by  living 
their  thoughts.  St.  Anthony  dies  of  too  much 
thought  and  love  for  his  Christ ;  Emma  Bovary 
dies  of  living  her  divers  dreams.  And  one  of  the 
best  scenes  portraying  this  over-activity  of  mind  is 
depicted  in  the  passage  quoted  by  Bourget  from 
"  Madame  Bovary,"  where  the  heads  of  husband 
and  wife,  though  meeting  together  on  the  pillow, 
wander  so  far  from  each  other  in  their  imagina- 
tion. Charles  Bovary  dreamed  he  was  listening 
to  the  breath  of  his  child.  He  loved  to  think  of 
her,  —  how  she  would  grow  and  develop.  Emma 
imagined  she  was  tearing  away  at  the  gallop  of 
four  vigorous  horses,  hurrying  on  toward  a  country 
whence  they  would  never  return,  —  her  lover  and 
herself.  The  quotation  is  not  only  humoristic,  as 
showing  the  discrepancy  between  the  grandilo- 
quent dreams  of  Emma  and  the  homely  realities  of 
her  surroundings,  but  it  evidences  the  existence  in 
Flaubert  himself  of  that  vmtiring  activity  of  mind 
with  which  he  endows  the  personages  of  his  inven- 


PAUL  BOURGET  119 

tion.  Style  was  Flaubert's  tormentor :  and,  though 
he  has  not  said  of  himself  what  Edmond  de  Gon- 
court  said  of  Jules,  "  He  died  of  style,"  yet  style 
was  his  constant  preoccupation.  He  touched  and 
retouched,  arranged,  altered,  and  worked  whole 
nights  hunting  after  perfection.  "  The  word  and 
the  thought,"  he  often  repeated,  "  are  one ;  the 
thought  is  not  outside  the  word :  it  is  as  insepa- 
rable from  it  as  the  word  is  inseparable  from  the 
phrase." 

If  Flaubert's  personages  think  more  than  they 
act,  if  with  them  speculation  destroys  action, 
with  Bourget  the  reverse  is  often  the  case.  Had 
Noemie  Hurtrel,  for  instance,  applied  more  of  her 
meditative  faculties  to  her  own  personal  case,  she 
would  not  have  been  driven  to  despair  and  suicide. 
The  same  with  du  Prat.  Both  are  victims  to  ab- 
sence of  thought :  they  are  mastered  by  events 
because  they  follow  them  with  the  impulse  of 
their  natures. 

Taine  appears  to  Bourget  only  as  the  philoso- 
pher. Of  Taine  the  historian,  the  critic,  the  ini- 
tiator of  foreign  thought  in  France,  Bourget  is 
utterly  neglectful.  The  philosophical  principles 
of  Taine  and  Bourget  with  regard  to  literature, 
however,  are  as  contradictory  as  the  methods  of 
Zola  and  Bourget  in  novel-writing.  Bourget  is  a 
decided  separatist,  —  one  who,  like  Descartes,  en- 
tirely separates  in  humanity  the  promptings  of  the 
person  and  the  suggestions  of  the  soul.  In  the 
same  being,  according  to  Bourget,  are  two  distinct 
impulses,  and  not  only  distinct,  but  opposed :  the 
promptings  of  the  spiritual  being,  and  the  prompt- 


120  PAUL  BOURGET 

ings  of  the  bodily  being ;  seldom  meeting  in  the 
same  conclusions.  Taine's  views,  on  the  contrary, 
go  to  affirm  that  man  is  the  result  of  a  climate,  of 
a  group,  of  a  pressure  of  ideas,  of  an  atmosphere 
moral  and  real.  The  characteristic  of  Bourget's 
philosophy  and  psychology  is  minutiae,  —  minutiae 
to  a  defect ;  minutiae  to  which  Beyle  would  have 
certainly  applied  his  remark,  "  La  minutie  en  psy- 
chologic peut  aller  trop  loin,  lorsque,  par  exemple, 
elle  transforme  en  hommes  de  simples  manches  a 
sabres !  " 

A  "  tonified  "  Baudelaire,  a  Renan  freed  from 
all  anti-religious  aggressiveness,  a  lion-like  Flau- 
bert in  search  of  perfection,  a  softened,  tender 
Beyle,^  —  such  are  the  modifications  that  Bourget's 
delicate  and  subtle  psychology  has  imposed  upon 
the  well-known  writers  whom  he  has  studied. 
One  of  the  excellences  of  these  essays  is  their 
comprehensiveness.  In  all  his  models  Bourget 
has  shirked  nothing.  He  has  taken  account  of  all 
contingencies  ;  of  the  heart  qualities  and  gifts  as 
much  as  of  the  brain  gifts.     He  writes :  — 

"  There  exist  souls  of  election  with  whom  the 
development  of  the  mind  and  of  the  intellect  is  in 
no  way  detrimental  to  the  full  swing  in  them  of 
the  life  of  passion  as  well.  In  such  natures,  cere- 
bral fever  and  creative  powers  are  but  an  addition 
to  the  fermentations  of  natural  normal  life.  The 
capacity  of  such  natures  for  affection  and  love  is 
increased  instead  of  being  destroyed  by  reason  of 
their  consciousness." 

1  Bourget's  sketch  of  Bej^le  ("  De  Stendhal  ")  gives  quite 
a  new  and  lovable  aspect  of  the  great  critic. 


PAUL  BOURGET  121 

As  Bourget's  novel,  "  Le  Disciple,"  is  ratlier  a 
work  of  i3ure  dissective  psychology  than  a  romance 
of  passion,  its  natural  place  is  here,  immediately 
after  the  psychological  sketches,  and  before  his 
other  novels. 


The  theme  of  "  Le  Disciple,"  —  well  charac- 
terized "  the  diagnosis  of  others  through  the  mag- 
nified study  of  self,"  —  such  as  it  is,  fastened  itself 
upon  Bourget's  mind  through  a  most  tragic  crimi- 
nal case  which  happened  in  Algiers  in  the  year 
1889.  A  young  man  named  Chambige,  belonging 
to  the  French  bureaucratic  middle  class,  killed  his 
mistress  ;  failing  afterward  in  his  attempt  to  kill 
himself.  During  the  interval  of  imprisonment  be- 
tween his  arrest  and  his  trial,  Chambige  addressed 
most  dithyrambic  letters  to  Bourget,  charging  all 
the  contemporaneous  novel-writers  with  having 
instigated  his  crime  by  the  spirit  of  pessimism 
prevalent  in  the  modern  literature  of  fiction.  The 
verdict  on  Chambige  was  one  of  "  irresponsibil- 
ity ; "  and,  shortly  after  this  true  and  terrible  case, 
appeared  "  Le  Disciple."  Eobert  Greslou,  the 
"  disciple,"  is  the  acme  and  essence  of  the  egotist. 
The  vaguest  movement  of  his  own  lungs  is  to 
Greslou  a  matter  of  the  intensest  significance.  He 
has  kept  a  journal  of  his  every  palpitation  since 
his  childhood.     He  writes  :  — 

"  At  the  age  of  twelve  my  faculties  of  observation 
were  such  that  one  of  my  dearest  wishes  was  to  be 
in  possession  of  the  opinion  my  mother  had  formed 
of  me.     I   wished   to  compare  what  I  really  was 


122  PAUL  BOURGET 

with  wliat  was  thought  of  me.  I  waited  for  the 
occasion ;  and  one  day  I  listened  to  my  mother's 
estimation  of  myself  in  a  conversation  with  a  friend 
of  hers.  The  conclusion  I  drew  from  that  day 
forward  was,  that  between  what  I  was  and  what 
she  thought  me  to  be,  there  existed  no  more  like- 
ness than  between  my  real  visage  and  the  reflec- 
tion of  it  in  a  colored  looking-glass." 

Robert  Greslou,  an  obscure  professor,  recrimi- 
nates against  the  whole  world  ;  and,  knowing  no 
limits  to  his  aspirations,  he  considers  himself  frus- 
trated in  all  his  desires  simply  because  he  fails  in 
the  satisfaction  of  his  ambition.  "  La  psychologie 
de  Dieu,"  a  book  written  by  one  Professor  Sixte, 
who,  under  Bourget's  pen,  represents  the  modern 
pessimistic  doctrinarian,  has  made  Greslou  the  pas- 
sionate disciple  of  Sixte.  This  book  is  one  of  pure 
speculation,  the  professor  being  essentially  one  of 
those  innocent  scientists  after  the  fashion  of  Jean 
Paul  Richter's  Maria  Hilf  —  innocent,  but  danger- 
ous. He  plays  with  the  most  intricate  cobwebs  of 
moral  life,  quite  unconscious  of  the  perturbations 
that  his  conclusions,  born  of  speculation  purely, 
may  induce  if  transported  from  dreamland  into 
real  life.  In  this  book,  which  theorizes  on  the  pas- 
sions generally,  Greslou  discovers  elements  which 
he  resolves  upon  applying  in  his  own  life,  — 
methods,  so  to  say,  indifferent  or  curious,  and, 
speculatively  speaking,  in  both  cases  harmless ; 
whereas,  ripened  and  working  in  an  over-excited 
brain  and  a  discontented  mind,  they  may  become 
nefarious,  if  from  the  world  of  speculation  they 
are  transferred  to  the  world  of  action.     Greslou 


PAUL  BOURGET  123 

becomes  tutor  In  the  household  of  the  Marquis  de 
Jussat-Randon,  where  he  promptly  decides  upon 
playing  to  Charlotte,  the  daughter  of  his  patron, 
the  part  Saint-Preux  played  toward  Heloise  in  the 
work  of  Rousseau.  His  success  is  followed  by  the 
death  of  both,  for  Charlotte  poisons  herself  and 
Greslou  is  shot  dead  by  her  brother. 

"  Le  Disciple  "  is  not  only  an  implicit  satire 
upon  the  danger  of  philosophers'  writing  platoni- 
cally  upon  passions  which  they  have  not  experi- 
enced; it  also  shows  what  havoc  pessimistic  doc- 
trines of  any  kind  may  make  among  discontented 
souls.  Love  of  self,  carried  to  morbidity  and 
crime,  is  the  essence  of  "  Le  Disciple."  Pre- 
occupation of  self,  carried  almost  to  monomania, 
forms  the  basis  of  Noemie  Hurtrel.  With  Noemie, 
also,  despair  takes  the  place  of  remorse ;  but 
Noemie  was  sufficiently  armed  by  Bourget :  she 
had  brains  and  moral  energy  enough  to  rise  by  a 
strong  effort  of  will  above  the  unique  and  deleteri- 
ous contemplation  of  ego  which  absorbs  her  very 
essence.  False  sensitiveness,  taking  the  form  of  a 
sustained  worship  of  "I,"  is  the  "case"  of  Noemie 
Hurtrel;  and  such  cases  are  common  with  our 
author ;  so  common,  indeed,  that  almost  all  his 
personages  are  moral  cases:  in  de  Querne  there 
is  such  absence  of  feeling  that  he  cannot  love ;  to 
Madame  de  Carlsberg,  fidelity  in  her  affections  is 
an  impossibility;  Chazel  has  such  utter  trust  in 
those  particularly  who  betray  him  that  it  is  akin 
to  lack  of  penetration.  Noemie  Hurtrel's  error 
of  losing  herself  in  over-meditation  upon  her  own 
destiny  prevents  her  from  any  useful  undertaking. 


124  PAUL  BOURGET 

She  leads  a  fruitless  life,  through  the  impossibility 
of  tearing  herself  from  herself. 


The  brain,  I  repeat,  is  with  Bourget  the  main 
dwelling  of  all  the  concepts  of  his  heroes  and 
heroines.  Consequently  the  loves  of  these  person- 
ages are  oftener  loves  of  the  imagination  than  of 
the  heart.  "  Un  Crime  d' Amour,"  which  might 
as  appropriately  be  entitled  "Lack  of  Love,"  is 
the  story  of  an  artificial  brain-love  on  the  part  of 
the  hero,  of  a  headlong  caprice  on  the  part  of  the 
heroine.  "  La  Terre  promise  "  tells  of  a  little  girl 
who  will  only  know  real  love  long  after  she  has 
outlived  the  mild  schoolgirl  tale  she  hears  at  first. 
"  Une  Idylle  tragique  "  is  the  story  of  a  neuras- 
thenic lady  in  search  of  passion  through  divers 
essays  of  dreamy  fancies.  The  case  of  Helene 
Chazel  in  "Un  Crime  d' Amour,"  as  cases  go,  is 
far  from  being  a  new  one  :  it  is  the  hackneyed 
narrative  of  the  husband's  best  friend  alienating 
the  wife.  The  only  novelty  in  the  matter  is  the 
descriptive  mania  of  Bourget,  —  his  dwelling  upon 
screens,  lamp-shades,  bookcases,  carpets,  upholstery 
of  every  known  kind,  long  after  the  reader  is  en- 
titled to  expect  that  the  portrait  of  the  heroes 
should  replace  the  sketch  of  things  belonging  to  the 
surrounding  frame.  If  the  errors  of  moral  insight 
which  abound  in  "  Un  Crime  d' Amour  "  happened 
only  to  Helene  and  de  Querne,  love  might  justify 
them  ;  but  Robert  Greslou,  Madame  de  Carlsberg, 
Hautefeuille,  err  in  the  same  way  with  regard  to 


PAUL  BOURGET  125 

their  own  inner  status.  Is  this,  then,  the  error  of 
the  author  himself  ?  Or  do  the  falsified  views  of 
the  characters  of  his  imagination  impose  their  own 
crooked  conclusions  on  the  novelist  ?  It  is  easier 
in  such  matters  to  estimate  results  than  to  perceive 
causes.  The  results  of  these  strange  morals  are 
that  women  betray  the  most  trusting  husbands, 
believing  themselves  angels,  and  that  Lovelaces 
turn  to  Vincents  de  Paul.  Unexpectedly  strange 
and  curiously  unsound,  to  say  the  least !  A  beau- 
tiful feeling  of  humanitarian  sympathy  gleams 
through  "  Un  Crime  d' Amour  "  toward  the  close, 
however,  making  it  end  more  pathetically  than  it 
began.  De  Querne,  speculating  on  the  difficulties 
which  exist  for  the  philosopher  who  would  rest 
assured  that  the  explanation  of  earthly  life  is  to  be 
given  in  Paradise,  and  on  the  emptiness  of  man's 
destiny  when  deprived  of  future  rewards,  con- 
cludes that  the  solidarity  of  misery  is  in  itself  a 
sufficient  cause  for  man  to  brace  himself  to  the 
short-lived  and  dolorous  effort  of  living.  Noemie 
Hurtrel,  in  "  L'Irreparable,"  is  a  variety  of  de 
Querne,  in  so  far  that  the  key  of  her  nature  is  a 
morbid  brooding  over  a  tragic  event  of  which  she 
has  been  the  victim. 

An  impulsive,  unconscious  creature  is  Noemie, 
—  unconscious,  at  least,  of  any  effort  to  rise  above 
the  events  which  assail  her ;  and  though  Bourget 
has  at  first  shown  her  to  the  reader  as  a  woman  of 
culture  and  intellectual  aspirations,  his  opinion 
of  her  species  is  so  willingly,  so  purposely,  a  mis- 
estimating one  that  he  endows  her  with  no  wish  to 
abstract  herself  from  self -absorption  either  by  study 


126  PAUL  BOURGET 

or  by  humanitarian  deeds  of  any  sort.  We  are  in- 
formed by  tlie  author  that  Noemie  Hurtrel  is  one  of 
those  modern  dabblers  in  philosophy  who  meddle  in 
Schopenhauer  and  Kant,  mix  with  the  subjective 
and  the  objective ;  one  of  those  who  read,  perhaps, 
rather  than  assimilate,  and  whose  only  wish,  if  they 
do  assimilate,  is  to  talk  what  they  have  absorbed. 
Though  the  woman  who  should  cure  a  heartsore 
with  an  application  of  Plato  would  be  very  un- 
womanly indeed  if  she  proceeded  thus  in  the  acute 
period  of  her  trouble,  yet  a  woman  whose  mind 
is  at  all  developed,  as  Bourget  insists  in  telling 
us  Noemie  Hurtrel's  was,  might  at  least  make 
an  effort  of  some  kind.  The  self-abandonment  of 
Noemie  can  be  accounted  for  only  by  the  inefface- 
able trace  in  her  heart  of  the  injury  inflicted  on 
her  at  her  start  in  life.  She  has  been  weakened 
gradually  through  the  passing  years  by  the  remem- 
brance of  a  slur.  She  would  have  confessed  to 
Lord  Wadham  and  poured  out  all  her  heart  into 
his  ;  but  Lord  "Wadham  has  no  such  element  as  a 
heart  in  him,  and  Noemie  is  thrown  back  upon 
herself,  till,  hypnotized  by  her  fixed  idea  and  un- 
able to  battle  any  more,  she  walks  out  of  existence. 
"Morte  pour  rien "  is  the  best  epitome  of  the 
whole  drama,  —  "  died  uselessly,"  as  she  had  lived 
uselessly.  More  religious  or  more  frivolous, 
Noemie  would  have  reconquered  herself,  as  Hen- 
riette  Scilly  and  Ely  de  Carlsberg  did,  —  the  one 
through  the  nobility  of  her  unbending  and  rather 
childish  dignity,  the  other  through  her  love  of  the 
woi4d. 

Henriette  Scilly,  however,  rises  to  the  complete 


PAUL  BOURGET  111 

sacrifice  of  self  by  intense  religious  feeling.  She 
has  gone  to  Palermo  with  her  mother  and  her  fu- 
ture husband,  Francis  Nayrac,  when,  on  an  un- 
lucky day,  Pauline  Raffraye  projects  herself  on 
Henriette's  horizon.  This  lady  is  accompanied  by 
a  little  girl  of  about  ten  years,  the  daughter  of 
Francis  Nayrac  and  Pauline  in  past  years.  Hen- 
riette  speaks  to  the  child;  and  the  guardedness 
of  the  child's  answers,  as  well  as  some  secret  in- 
stinct, prompts  Henriette  to  guess  that  there  exists 
some  bond  between  Nayrac  and  the  child's  mother. 
Meanwhile  Pauline  dies.  The  old  and  much-used 
system  of  hearing  through  open  doors  serves  Hen- 
riette. She  hears  a  prolonged  explanation  be- 
tween her  mother  and  Nayrac,  and  perceives  that 
the  discussion  turns  upon  the  adoption  by  Nayrac 
of  the  little  girl.  Henriette  at  once  resolves  upon 
giving  up  her  marriage  ;  thus  sacrificing  herself, 
and  leaving  the  father  entirely  to  his  duties.  She 
refuses  to  hear  any  of  Nayrac's  prayers.  Occa- 
sions to  express  himself  pessimistically  about  wo- 
men are  almost  as  dear  to  Bourget  as  to  Dumas 
jils.  Traitresses  and  false  women  abound  in  his 
books.  However  this  may  be,  Henriette  Scilly's 
sacrifice  is  such  that,  though  the  reader  is  not  led 
to  believe  in  any  possibility  of  relenting  on  her 
part,  yet  it  may  be  inferred  that  as  time  passes 
she  will  some  day  think  of  father  and  child,  and, 
perhaps,  alter  her  decision. 

"  La  Terre  promise  "  is  a  mild  book.  It  holds 
in  Bourget's  works  about  the  same  place  that  "  Le 
Reve"  holds  in  Zola's.  It  is  a  book  of  court- 
ship to  the  Academie,  written  in  a  widely  different 


128  PAUL  BOURGET 

order  of  thought  from  "  Une  Idylle  tragique,"  for 
instance.  The  evolution  from  a  Suzanne  Moraines 
to  the  heroine  of  "  Notre  Coeur  "  is  rich  in  varie- 
ties of  types.  At  Bourget's  starting-point  his 
heroes  are  mostly  pleasure-seeking  men  and  women. 
Suzanne  Moraines  is  a  modern  Manon  Lescaut 
without  the  generous  heart  of  her  prototype. 

His  journey  to  America  marked  in  Bourget  a 
new  era.  Till  then  the  saddest  sides  of  the  society 
of  all  great  cities  were  exploited  by  our  author : 
venality,  adultery,  lying,  and  dishonesty  of  every 
kind  were  his  favorite  themes.  In  Ely  de  Carls- 
berg,  at  least,  we  are  brought  face  to  face  with  a 
disinterested,  but  certainly  very  changeful,  heart. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  book  she  has  already 
loved  Olivier  du  Prat,  married  the  Archduke,  and 
begun  her  liaison  with  Pierre  Hautefeuille.  Ely 
is  a  victim  to  her  tyrannic  Archduke,  —  an  arch- 
duke of  the  modern  pattern,  a  scientist  with  a 
laboratory  and  a  young  secretary  who  receives  for 
all  his  work  nought  but  ill  words  and  hard  deal- 
ings. Ely  has  met  Olivier  du  Prat  at  Eome,  and 
Olivier  has  since  married.  Now  he  has  come  to 
Monte  Carlo,  where  he  meets  Pierre  Hautefeuille, 
his  former  college  chum.  Hearing  of  Haute- 
feuille's  success  with  Madame  de  Carlsberg  he 
grows  restless,  and,  after  various  attempts  at  re- 
instating his  friendship  with  Pierre,  finally  aban- 
dons himself  to  the  return  of  his  love  for  Ely, 
going  so  far  as  to  introduce  himself  one  night 
into  the  Archduke's  garden.  The  Archduke,  who 
is  more  despotic  than  jealous,  discovers  him,  shoots 
at  hap-hazard,  and  Olivier  falls  dead.     Hencefor- 


PAUL  BOURGET  129 

ward  Hautefeuille  and  Madame  de  Carlsberg  are 
forever  divided  by  Olivier's  death.  All  around 
Madame  de  Carlsberg  in  tbis  book  are  grouped 
most  humoristic  sketches,  —  Fregoso,  the  Genoese 
owner  of  a  beautiful  gallery,  for  instance  ;  Mai'sh, 
the  American,  and  his  niece  Flossie.  Marsh  is 
a  sentimental  millionaire  whose  yacht  contains  a 
chapel  dedicated  to  the  memory  of  a  deceased 
daughter  of  his,  a  girl  of  seventeen.  Her  marble 
statue  is  the  object  on  his  part  of  a  cult,  and  to 
this  holy  room  none  are  admitted  save  in  the  atti- 
tude of  prayer.  The  amalgam  in  Richard  Marsh 
of  money,  love,  generous  chivalry,  gaudiness,  and 
simplicity;  the  diverse  moods  in  which  he  alter- 
nately treats  those  whom  he  helps  as  a  tribe  of 
paupers,  or  with  delicacy  seeks  the  means  of  being 
to  them  a  providence,  —  these  contradictions  in 
his  character,  the  natural  results  of  a  lack  of  the 
polish  which  education  gives  and  which  fails  the 
self-made  nabob,  are  most  carefully  depicted  by 
Bourget ;  cosmopolitanism,  as  I  have  already  said, 
being  his  most  distinctive  feature. 

The  women  of  Bourget's  novels  are  mostly  cap- 
tivating conversationalists,  —  because  Bourget  him- 
self is  the  talker,  —  but  their  brains  never  react 
upon  their  doings.  All  are  as  empty  of  purpose 
as  poor  Noemie  Hurtrel,  though  all  do  not  go  to 
the  same  extremes.  A  duplicate  of  Noemie  is  to 
be  found  in  "  Deuxieme  Amour,"  though  this  time 
the  victim,  Claire,  executes  her  heart,  while  remain- 
ing alive.  Claire  has  been  married  very  young  to 
a  man  whom  she  discovers  to  be  a  thief.  Her 
horror  of  him  combined  with  her  love  for  another 


130  PAUL  BOURGET 

causes  her  to  elope  with  Gerard.  A  short  experi- 
ence of  Gerard,  however,  dispels  all  illusions  from 
Claire.  This  one  is  not  a  thief ;  but  he  lacks 
delicacy  of  feeling,  which  she  finds  at  last  in  a 
friend  of  Gerard,  whom  she  loves  for  himself,  not 
with  the  wish  of  getting  away  from  such  a  low 
character  as  her  husband.  This  love,  however,  she 
renounces,  and  Elie,  receiving  the  letter  in  which 
she  announces  that  he  will  never  see  her  again, 
states  that  he  now  knows  "  ce  que  c'est  qu'un 
grand  amour,"  —  that  great  loves  are  great,  fruit- 
ful tortures,  through  which  souls  rise  to  their 
highest  levels.  Among  "Profils  perdus"  let  us 
mark  also  the  Eussian  doctress.  "  She  would 
accept  my  compliments  and  empressements  with 
her  placid,  masculine  look ;  her  speeches  upon  love, 
death,  maternity,  and  all  other  subjects  were  of  the 
coarsest  materialism ;  and,  as  one  listened  to  her, 
one  felt  her  very  hand  was  virgin  of  a  man's  kiss." 
In  fact,  a  rather  neurasthenic  humanity  in  search 
of  duality  of  feeling,  a  humanity  preoccupied  with 
the  study  of  its  soul  through  the  medium  of  its 
intellect,  and  in  counting  the  pulsations  of  its 
bram,  —  such  is  the  himianity  Bourget  shows  us. 
It  may  weU  be  said  of  our  novelist  that  he  is  inno- 
cent of  the  creation  of  a  single  simple  nature. 


"Whether  sophisticated  and  complicated  through 
the  multiplicity  of  their  contradictory  feelings  or 
through  the  pursuit  of  making  apparent  their  inner 
life,  Bourget's  creatures  are  never  simple.     They 


PAUL  BOURGET  131 

are  not  simple  because  in  them  effects  do  not  fol- 
low causes  in  a  normal,  natural  way.  Love,  gener- 
ous love,  great  love,  is  full  blown  in  Bourget's 
heroines.  Yet  the  heart,  instead  of  following  the 
bent  of  self-forgetfulness,  which  is  the  effect  of 
real  love,  goes  farther  and  farther  on  the  road  to 
selfishness  ;  and  the  anomaly  is  seen  throughout 
Bourget's  books  of  a  nature  at  once  generous  in  its 
feelings  and  egotistical  in  its  life.  The  men  and 
women  we  read  of  in  Bourget's  novels  are  morally 
so  deficient  that  their  will  never  interferes  to  help 
them  in  the  hour  of  need,  —  cold,  reasoning,  plea- 
sure-seekers, snobs,  creatures  in  whom  even  in- 
stinct seems  a  product  of  the  brain,  so  factitious 
and  unnatural  are  they. 

As  to  Bourget's  attempts  at  cynicism,  they  are 
very  mild  indeed.  He  seems,  however,  to  believe 
no  one  ever  tied  together  such  astoundingly  contra- 
dictory assertions  as  that,  for  instance,  in  "  Cruelle 
Enigme,"  that  the  man  who  had  worshiped  a  wo- 
man for  her  purity  was  held  to  her  next  by  the 
lowest  resources  of  sensuality !  "  The  wildest  phy- 
sical desires  may  be  felt  simultaneously  with  the 
sincerest  contempt."  What  is  there  so  new  in  all 
this  ?  Above  all,  what,  critically  speaking,  is  this 
method  of  approximating  "  physical  desires "  and 
"  contempt  "  ?  Why  this  confusion  of  physiology 
and  psychology  ?  Most  of  Bourget's  lovers  fall 
under  the  description  Rene  Doumic  gives  of  the 
modern  young  man.  "  They  are  mostly,"  writes 
Doumic,  "  poor  attenuated  creatures  whom  ma- 
ternal spoiling  and  excessive  university  work  have 
altogether  destroyed."     Zola  lias  taken  life  in  its 


132  PAUL  BOURGET 

whole.  Maupassant  Bas  selected  physiology  and 
psychology.  Bourget's  principal  merit  is  his  sin- 
cerity about  a  certain  world,  —  a  world  where 
moral  nullity  is  the  result  of  over-leisure. 

Bourget  is  in  the  realm  of  romance  what  Freder- 
ick Amiel  is  in  the  realm  of  thinkers  and  philoso- 
phers, —  a  subtle,  ingenious,  highly  gifted,  but  par- 
tial student  of  his  time  ;  rather  prone,  however,  to 
what  is  easy  and  abnormal  than  to  what  is  real  and 
natural.  With  a  wonderful  dexterity  of  pen,  a 
very  acute,  almost  womanly  intuition,  and  a  rare 
morbidity  of  grace  about  all  his  writings,  it  is  prob- 
able that  Bourget  will  remain  more  known  as  a 
critic  than  as  a  romancer. 

The  personages  he  has  created  will  be  short-lived. 
De  Quernes  and  Larchers  will,  necessarily,  be  re- 
placed by  the  generations  of  athletic  men  whom 
modern  sports  are  developing ;  and  as  to  Mesdames 
Moraines,  Chazel,  and  others,  —  these  were,  after 
all,  but  refashioned  Marneffes  and  Nucingens  out 
of  Balzac's  "  Comedie  humaine."  It  may  be  said 
of  Bourget,  as  it  was  of  Musset,  that  his  glass  is 
small;  but,  whereas  Musset  filled  his  glass  with 
his  own  soul,  Bourget  has  filled  his  with  souls  so 
artificial  and  so  factitious  that  they  will  evaporate, 
and  will  leave  certainly  less  of  Bourget  the  novelist 
than  of  Bourget  the  critic. 


EUGENE  MELCHIOR  DE  VOGUE 

If  an  Englishman  of  the  great  Carlylean  epoch 
had  heard  MM.  Villemain,  Cousin,  Naquet,  Sainte- 
Beuve,  or  any  other  of  that  class,  ask  ingenuously, 
"  Where,  what,  and  who  is  Carlyle  ?  "  and  glory 
in  his  ignorance,  he  would  have  assumed,  perhaps 
rightly,  the  cause  of  such  ignorance  to  be  affecta- 
tion ;  or  would  have  attributed  the  remark  to  a 
desire  of  attracting  notice ;  or,  again,  would  have 
wondered  what  personal  spite  the  questioner  might 
be  indulging.  But  all  such  moods  are  so  fatal  to 
the  real  conversationalist  that  he  carefully  leaves 
them  at  home  whenever  he  sallies  out  upon  the 
errand  of  talking. 

An  English  critic  was  saying  to  me  not  long 
ago :  "  Talking  (causer')  is  essentially  a  French 
occupation  or  acquisition,  arising  from  the  need  to 
parade  before  the  world  the  mental  resources  of 
the  speaker.  For  one  Shakespeare  that  we  have 
you  need  half  a  dozen  men  of  genius :  a  Pascal 
for  the  thought  of  Hamlet ;  a  Descartes  for  the 
metaphysics  of  Lady  Macbeth ;  a  Corneille  to 
recall  the  grandeur  of  Rome  ;  a  Racine  to  inspire 
'  Phedre '  with  passion  ;  a  Moliere  to  point  the 
shaft  of  irony  ;  and,  after  passing  out  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  a  Musset  to  sing  the  songs  of  fancy. 
Your  Frenchman  is  an  exclusive  specialist  and  a 
classifier."    All  of  which  is  quite  true.    At  the  same 


134        EUGilNE  MELCHIOR  BE  VOGUt 

time,  this  method  or  system  of  knowing  one  thing 
only,  but  knowing  it  well,  has  its  advantages,  if 
only  in  obviating  the  possibility  of  such  surprises 
as  the  one  I  instanced  above  ;  for  Frenchmen  meet 
in  society  on  neutral  ground,  impersonally,  not  as 
man  to  man,  but  as  mind  to  mind.  Personal  vanity, 
nervousness,  or  spite  must  be  left  at  home  :  the 
mind  alone  is  invited  out ;  and  thus  we  are  spared 
such  amazing  and  pitiable  confessions  of  ignorance 
as  that  recently  made  to  me  by  one  of  the  most 
deservedly  popular  English  writers.  "I  do  not 
know  Ferdinand  Brunetiere,  because  he  writes  in 
the  '  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,'  which  I  never  read, 
and  I  do  not  know  Vogiie,  because  his  works  have 
not  been  translated."  This  latter  misfortune 
Vogiie,  one  of  our  greatest  masters  of  style,  shares 
with  Bossuet,  whom,  nevertheless,  my  witty  friend 
certainly  has  read.  To  be  sure,  the  Bishop  of 
Meaux  is  dead,  and,  in  the  eyes  of  an  ambitious 
author,  that  is  an  immense  advantage  over  a  living 
Vogiie.  At  the  same  time,  the  Englishman's  nat- 
ural aversion  to  a  purely  scientific,  impersonal 
treatment  of  the  object  or  subject  under  discussion, 
his  preference  for  generalizing  under  the  pronoun 
"  I,"  lead  him  into  that  most  grievous  of  social 
errors,  an  exhibition  of  self,  —  forgetting  that  a 
bilious  attack  should  be  carefully  wrapped  up  in  a 
dressing-gown.  Where  physical  and  mental  indi- 
viduality are  too  strongly  welded  together,  conver- 
sation is  allowed  to  recriminate :  thus  was  I  allowed 
to  perceive  through  my  interlocutor's  bitterness 
his  desire  to  make  me  believe  Vogiie  far  more 
ignored  in  England  than  he  himself  is  in  France  I 


EUGENE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGUt        135 

When  the  bugle  called,  in  1870,  the  boy  who 
was  to  become  the  youngest  member  of  the  French 
Academy  (he  was  elected  ^  in  1888),  and  who  was 
then  one  of  the  youngest  men  in  the  army,  followed 
his  brother  to  the  front.  For  centuries  no  Vogiie 
had  awaited  his  coming  of  age  to  leave  his  eagle's 
nest  in  the  mountains  and  sally  forth  for  the  king. 
The  light-haired,  clear,  deep-eyed  boy  had  inherited 
from  his  mother  the  stubborn  Scottish  perseve- 
rance in  the  path  of  duty,  as  he  had  imbibed  the 
traditions  that  clung  to  the  family  name.  The 
story  of  his  younger  years  recalls  that  of  Lamar- 
tine,  for  he  lived  among  the  same  class  of  people, 
was  one  of  them,  and  their  ways  were  his.  Like 
the  "  chatelain  de  Milly,"  he  wandered  about  the 
fields  with  his  friend  Virgil,  or  pored  over  some 
ponderous  quarto  in  the  family  library.^  Lamar- 
tine,  however,  was  obliged  to  defray  the  expenses 
of  his  first  volume  of  poems,  whereas  the  Vicomte 
de  Vogiie  entered  at  once  upon  a  successful  literary 
career.  In  1873  he  was  introduced  to  M.  Buloz, 
the  founder  of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  by 
one  of  the  most  eminent  writers  on  its  staff,  and 
his  manuscript  "  Voyage  en  Syrie  et  en  Palestine  " 
•was  immediately  accepted.  His  success  in  the 
world  of  letters  was  as  great  as  that  of  Lamartine's 
poems ;  and,  indeed,  the  career  of  each  of  these 
authors  sufficiently  resembles  that  of  the  other  to 
warrant  a  parallel.     Again,  a  general  election  re- 

^  At  the  age  of  forty  ;  lie  was  born  February  25,  1848. 

2  "  Do  you  remember  the  quiet  library  in  the  old  home- 
stead, where,  on  rainy  afternoons,  you  lived  and  read  the 
hours  away  ?  "  —  Heures  d'Histoire. 


136        EUGkNE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGU^ 

turned  Vogiie,  by  an  immense  majority,  as  the 
representative  for  tlie  district  in  which  his  name 
had  been  honored  for  centuries,  as  might  have 
been  the  case  with  Lamartine  before  him.  The 
new  member  said :  "  Whether  as  a  man  of  letters 
or  as  a  diplomat  in  the  service  of  my  country,  I 
have  lived  my  life  loyally,  openly,  so  that  all  may 
know  it  and  scrutinize  it  in  detail." 

Throughout  the  campaign  of  1870  Vogiie  served 
in  one  of  the  very  regiments  described  by  M.  Zola 
in  "  La  Debacle."  His  brother  fell  on  the  field 
of  honor,  and  the  disaster  that  overwhelmed  his 
country,  added  to  his  own  grief,  stamped  upon  his 
brow  the  pale  mark  of  melancholy  reserved  for 
the  elect.  When  peace  descended  upon  the  land, 
Vogiie,  again  like  Lamartine,  chose  a  diplomatic 
career,  in  which,  while  serving  his  country,  he 
could  also  study  his  fellow-men  and  foUow  the 
philosophical  bent  of  his  mind.  His  first  post  was 
Greece,  where,  under  the  shadow  of  the  Acropolis, 
he  read  again  Aristotle,  Homer,  and  Plato  ;  at  the 
bidding  of  ^schylus  the  terrible  trilogy  being  once 
more  enacted  before  him.  Amid  such  surround- 
ings the  man  who  could  grasp  the  vast  dramas  of 
history  with  such  a  master-hand  as  the  author  of 
"  The  Son  of  Peter  the  Great,"  and  at  the  same 
time  describe  nature  with  the  magic  touch  of  Loti, 
was  really  in  his  element.  Those  who  have  kept 
the  letters  in  which  at  that  time  Vogiie,  with  a 
pen  worthy  of  Byron,  described  the  soul-inspiring 
skies  and  seas  of  Hellas,  can  easily  follow  his  early 
Turner  stage  into  the  stronger  spheres  of  Decamps. 
During  what  may  be  called  the  first  stage  of 


EUGkNE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGUlk       137 

Vogue's  life  —  that  is,  throughout  the  records  of 
his  impressions  gathered  in  Egypt,  Asia,  the  East, 
and  at  first  even  in  Russia  —  the  sun  had  been  the 
pole-star  of  this  child  of  Provence ;  but  later  the 
dreary  sadness  of  the  Russian  steppe,  the  harsh 
lash  of  the  Muscovite  climate,  the  primitive  fallow- 
ness  of  soul  and  soil,  attracted  him  by  their  very 
repellency,  and  awakened  within  him  the  ambition 
of  conquest,  coute  que  coute,  —  the  ambition  so  dear 
to  the  Scotchman's  heart,  who  gauges  the  victory 
according  to  the  obstacles  he  has  overcome. 

After  Athens  he  was  sent  to  Egypt.  Isis  and 
Cleopatra  worked  their  spell.  Before  the  Sphinx 
he  dreamed  of  infinite  horizons :  no  longer  merely 
the  infinity  of  space,  but  the  infinity  of  thought. 
Before  the  colossal  emblem  of  Egypt's  past  he  in- 
voked the  shade  of  Pascal ;  and  from  the  domain 
of  physics  into  the  wider  realm  of  metaphysics  he 
moved  —  from  the  real  to  the  possible  ;  yet,  not- 
withstanding their  variety,  their  splendor,  these 
single  gems  remained  separate  and  unset,  each  per- 
fect in  itself,  but  as  yet  only  a  part  of  an  imperfect 
whole. 

Governments  change  in  France  as  they  do  else- 
where —  perhaps  even  more  often  ;  and  a  change 
of  government  may  sometimes  bring  with  it  the 
golden  opportunity  to  the  coming  man.  It  was 
thus  in  Vogue's  case.  General  Le  Flo  appointed 
him  to  St.  Petersburg,  where  he  was  able  to  quarry 
in  virgin  ground. 

It  is  the  privilege  of  unprejudiced  master-minds 
to  see  the  thing  to  do,  and  do  it.  So  Vogiie,  ap- 
parently lost  in  the  vast  Russian  desert,  not  only 


138        EUGJkNE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGM 

found  his  way,  but,  in  superb  French,  often  finer 
than  even  the  firmest  style  of  Chateaubriand,  he 
wrote  of  the  soul  of  the  steppes,  and,  in  prose, 
told  us  the  poems  of  serf -life.  In  the  cradle  of  the 
East  he  had  learned  to  understand  the  springs  of 
the  great  human  drama,  whence  all  that  is  good  in 
modern  civilization  has  come  ;  and  in  the  wilder 
country  where  he  now  worked  the  modern  apostle 
spoke  clearly  to  him :  Tolstoi  of  Charity  because 
of  Christ,  Sutai'eff  of  Christ  himself;  and  in  the 
very  language  of  the  apostles  Vogiie  has  repeated 
what  they  told  him.  "  You  have  taken  my  cloak  ; 
now  take  my  shirt  also,  and  learn  thereby  to  pile 
sacks  of  corn  on  the  thief's  wagon,  that  he  may 
have  the  given  grain  as  well  as  the  stolen  sacks." 

But  before  considering  Vogiie's  Russian  work, 
his  greatest  at  this  time,  we  should  examine  his 
first  volume.  It  appeared  in  parts  in  the  "  Revue 
des  Deux  Mondes,"  under  the  title  "Voyage  en 
Syrie  et  en  Palestine."  Here,  speaking  of  the 
Holy  Land  anointed  by  the  Saviour's  blood,  and 
to  him  a  perpetual  source  of  inspiration  to  dream 
or  philosophize,  he  says  :  "It  is  not  easy  for  the 
modern  mind,  refined  by  incessant  endeavor,  de- 
tached from  material  considerations  by  the  slow 
processes  of  patient  time,  developed  and  purified 
by  centuries  of  evolution,  to  judge  fairly  the  events 
of  such  distant  ages.  The  soul  has  lived  and  suf- 
fered much  during  this  long  rubbing  of  man  against 
mankind,  and  the  rough  outer  shell  has  been  worn 
away.  Among  the  men  of  old  the  tougher  fibre 
of  material  life  bound  the  soul  more  closely,  held 
it  more  firmly,  nearer  to  mother  earth.     Mankind 


EUGENE  MELCHIOR  DE    VOGUT^        139 

was  young  then,  and  the  sun  burned  the  new-born 
earth,  and  the  earth  was  drunken  with  the  wine 
of  its  own  exuberance.  Man  —  the  man-child  — 
looked  about  him,  bewildered  by  the  universal 
bursting  of  the  buds  of  spring  life  and  crushed  by 
the  passionate  endeavor  of  nature.  The  gentler 
weaknesses  of  to-day  —  the  weaknesses  of  the  flesh, 
of  the  body-lord,  the  exalted  refinement  of  modern 
thought  —  he  knew  not ;  but  he  listened  eagerly 
to  the  voice  of  nature,  and  obeyed  it.  Life  and 
death  really  meant  to  him  the  beginning  and  the 
end."  And,  as  he  stands  in  the  land  of  Canaan, 
looking  backward  through  the  long  ages  of  its 
desolation,  the  same  heavy,  passionate  hand  of  na- 
ture fastens  upon  him  with  a  stronger,  more  angry 
grip.  Vogiid  goes  on  :  "  The  landscape  remains 
unchanged,  and  in  this  frame  we  see  the  life  that 
was.  The  day  is  done,  and  the  goddesses  of  the 
night  claim  our  worship.  The  virgin  moon  lingers 
lovingly  about  Ghibal,  and  the  passion-torn  Astarte 
casts  dark  mysterious  shadows,  —  shadows  preg- 
nant with  the  secrets  of  the  fates  and  with  the  fear 
of  death.  Beyond,  from  the  dimly  glimmering 
lake-sea  of  Aschera  rises  the  breath  of  life,  sen- 
suous, uneven,  powerful,  yearning  for  the  kiss  of 
the  buried  Tammouze,  —  Aschera,  the  irresistible 
one,  whose  hot,  thirsty  breath  has  drunk  in  the  cold 
breezes  of  Lebanon,  and  now  bids  the  grave  yield 
up  its  dead.  Slowly,  slowly  the  clamoring  women 
pass,  —  clamoring,  clamoring  for  the  soul  of  the 
lost  Tammouze.  Watch  them  pass,  —  leading  the 
people  of  Byblos  towards  the  empurpled  waters, 
where  Christ  bled  to  death,  —  watch  them  pass  1 " 


140        EUGENE  MELCHIOR   DE   VOGUil 

Later,  in  his  "  Images  de  Eome,"  his  transitions 
are  more  rapid  —  from  gay  to  grave,  from  phi- 
losophy to  irony,  from  the  smile  of  sympathy  to  the 
silence  of  meditation.  In  a  single  paragraph  he 
passes  from  the  initial  tumultuousness  of  the  gen- 
esis, when  the  world  was  "  drunk  with  youth," 
to  the  plastic  evolutions  of  classical  mythology: 
"  Astarte,  the  sombre  goddess  of  the  uncontrolled, 
unbridled  powers  of  darkness,  death,  night,  the 
deep." 

It  was  in  1875  that  France  sent  the  future  aca- 
demician and  depute  to  Russia,  where,  among  the 
yellow,  waving  wheat-fields,  the  prose  poet  studied 
the  simple  soul  of  the  Russian  peasant,  and  learned 
to  understand  how  much  of  mystical  dreaming,  of 
yearning  for  the  Beyond,  remains  to-day,  even 
after  all  these  centuries  of  sophistication,  in  that 
primitive  man.  East,  or  west,  or  south,  or  north, 
this  man  appears  to  Vogii^  unconsciously  nearer 
to  God  than  his  educated  brother.  Vogiie  was 
liked  in  Russia  deservedly,  for  he  liked  the  people 
about  him.  Eventually  he  married  a  daughter  of 
this  new  country,  and  through  the  prism  of  a 
woman's  soul,  illumined  by  love,  he  saw  Russia  as 
Byron  through  the  same  light  had  seen  Italy,  and 
rejoiced  in  the  sight  thereof.  His  initiation  into 
Russia  began  with  the  revelations  of  Tolstoi,  of 
Dostoievsky,  and  he  was  the  first  to  make  the 
French  public  understand  the  profound  psychology, 
as  well  as  the  human  Christian  side,  of  their  ap- 
parent pessimism.  Through  them  he  learned  to 
understand  what  Tourgu^nieff's  tales  of  Russian 
rural  life  had  failed  to  explain  :  he  learned  to 


EUGENE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGU:^        141 

understand  the  fermentation  of  this  multitude  of 
souls  newly  aware  of  the  freedom  of  thought,  but 
just  awakened  to  the  possibility  of  individualism 
of  expansion  —  not  realizable  at  once,  to  be  sure, 
but  far  beyond  anything  hitherto  dreamed  of  in 
their  philosophy.  Vogiie  was  the  first  to  expound 
before  a  French  audience  the  colossal  energy  of 
their  endeavor,  the  passionate  struggling  toward 
light  and  freedom  of  a  vast  congregation  com- 
pressed into  narrow  limits  under  an  iron  rule,  to 
whom  straight  paths  were  denied,  and  who  must 
fain  expend  the  full  intensity  of  its  energy  upon 
the  immediately  surrounding  mediums,  like  a  mass 
of  germs  fermenting  in  a  barrel. 

It  is  to  Vogiie  that  France  owes  the  discovery 
of  this  undocumented  human  family,  whose  habits 
and  struggles  would  have  delighted  the  pen  of  a 
Balzac,  and  which  both  Gogol  and  Tourguenieff 
omitted  from  their  records  of  rural  Russian  life. 

From  this  chapter  of  contemporary  history  Vogiie 
read  backward  into  the  past.  His  first  work  re- 
lating to  Russian  history  is  an  essay  on  Alexis,  the 
Don  Carlos  of  the  North ;  and  the  tragic  ending 
of  the  marriage  of  this  son  of  Peter  the  Great  with 
"  the  daughter  of  a  serf,"  an  ignorant,  prying  little 
savage,  intensely  fond  of  sweetmeats,  moves  him 
deeply.  There  are  few  pages  in  history  more  dra- 
matic than  those  in  which  he  pictures  the  last  act 
of  the  imperial  drama,  where  the  Tsarewitch  pays 
for  a  mistaken  love  at  the  price  of  his  honor  and 
his  life.  He  had  loved  the  peasant's  daughter  with 
an  unwise  love,  and  to  her  ambition  she  sacrificed 
the  man  for  the  sake  of  the  willing  tool.    The  goad 


142        EUGiJNE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGU^ 

of  love  drove  the  blind  Alexis  to  betray  his  father 
and  plot  against  his  emperor.  But  the  Christian 
Euphrosyne,  for  whose  sake  he  had  thrown  him- 
self away,  requited  this  devotion  by  revealing  the 
whole  plot  to  the  Tsar  himself ;  and  of  the  last 
scene  of  this  passion-play  Vogiie  writes :  "  Can 
anything  be  more  really  tragic  than  this  trial, 
where,  at  the  last  moment,  the  credulous  lover, 
chained  to  the  woman  for  whose  sake  and  at  whose 
instigation  he  has  ti'ampled  under  foot  every  filial 
duty  and  every  human  consideration,  awakes  from 
his  dream  of  love  to  hear  from  the  beloved  one  his 
condemnation  and  his  shame  ?  He  loves  her  still, 
and  by  the  power  of  this  love  she  wrings  from  his 
own  lips  the  final  confession,  and  wrests  from  his 
soul  the  last  lingering  illusions."  The  death  of 
the  Tsarewitch  followed  close  upon  these  revela- 
tions ;  and  Vogii^  maintains  that,  were  a  Shake- 
speare born  to  Russia,  the  story  of  the  Tsarewitch 
Alexis  would  be  the  theme  of  his  greatest  drama. 

Immediately  following  the  essay  on  the  "  Son  of 
Peter  the  Great,"  comes  an  admirable  paper  on 
"  Mazeppa  "  —  not  the  Mazeppa  of  the  common 
prints,  not  the  legendary  martyr  to  a  self-sought 
fate,  but  the  northern  Macchiavelli,  the  prototype 
of  Talleyrand,  deceiving  in  turn  each  one  of  his 
employers,  until,  weary  of  perpetual  deceit  as  the 
price  of  their  confidence,  they  cast  him  adrift. 

To  a  certain  extent  Vogiie  has  followed  the 
Mazeppa  of  Pouchkine,  careful,  however,  never  to 
leave  the  firm  ground  of  history  for  the  tempting 
quicksand  of  legendary  lore.  His  hero  remains  a 
man,  with  a  man's  foibles,  his  tricks  and  short- 


EUGENE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGU^       143 

comings,  his  vices  and  weaknesses  of  the  mind  as 
of  the  flesh.  In  the  first  pages  of  his  work  Vogue 
describes  the  prostrate  hero  pinioned  to  the  ground 
under  his  fallen  horse,  and  half  unconscious  :  — 

"  The  eager,  hungry  crows  are  brushing  past, 
so  close  in  their  flight  that  their  feathers  fan  the 
fallen  man ;  it  is  night,  and  Mazeppa  quivers  in 
the  last  agony.  The  end  is  near  when  a  young 
maiden,  Maria,  the  daughter  of  Kotchoubey,  comes 
to  his  rescue  and  offers  help  and  shelter.  A  few 
nights  later  the  rumbling  gallop  of  a  flying  horse 
re-echoes  through  the  darkness,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing Maria's  room  is  empty.  Mazeppa  has  eloped 
with  her.  It  is  the  counterpart  of  a  scene  of  his 
youth,  when  a  Polish  lord,  whose  wife  he  had  se- 
duced, straps  him  naked  to  an  unbroken  horse  and 
drives  them  forth  into  the  night.  The  wild  horse- 
man reaches  the  province  of  Ukraine,  where  his 
ability  is  soon  recognized  by  the  title  of  Prince. 
As  his  power  grows,  he  is  raised  to  the  rank  of 
hetman^  and  Jean  Casimir,  King  of  Poland,  in- 
trusts him  with  the  command  of  his  army.  Ma- 
zeppa espouses  the  cause  of  Charles  XII.,  and 
takes  sides  against  the  Tsar ;  but  he  is  not  quite 
sure  of  his  wife  Maria,  and  asks  her :  '  Which  is 
the  stronger,  —  your  love  for  your  father  or  your 
love  for  me  ? '  Fate  answers  for  her  ;  Kotchoubey 
is  imprisoned  and  soon  after  executed." 

For  a  man  of  Vogiie's  imagination  this  was  a 
splendid  foundation  ;  nevertheless,  he  preferred  to 
foUow  in  the  rut  of  history  and  leave  aside  the 
legend  with  its  locking  charms.  To  be  sure,  his- 
tory tells  a  different  tale,  more  simply. 


144        EUGENE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGUE 

Mazeppa,  a  Polish  lord,  has  been  detected  by 
his  mistress's  husband,  who  asks  of  one  of  his  men, 
"  How  often  has  Mazeppa  slept  under  my  roof 
while  I  was  abroad  ?  "  "  As  often,"  the  peasant 
replies,  "  as  I  have  hairs  on  my  head."  The  out- 
raged husband  at  once  orders  Mazeppa  to  be  tied, 
naked,  to  a  horse,  and  drives  the  wild  steed  across 
country.  The  man  is  saved.  After  many  strug- 
gles, Mazeppa's  superiority  is  acknowledged,  and 
honors  fall  thick  about  him.  Even  the  Patriarch 
of  Constantinople  feels  it  a  duty  to  send  him  pre- 
sents. The  man  is  weary  with  wealth  and  honors ; 
he  is  past  sixty ;  he  has  had  and  enjoyed  what  man 
may  have  and  enjoy,  and  he  is  gradually  sinking 
into  the  slough  of  old  age.  Suddenly  the  girl 
Maria  turns  him  back.  He  is  smitten  with  an 
unreasonable  love  for  the  young  thing,  and  the 
blase  old  satrap,  satiated  with  adulation,  weary  of 
swimming  down  the  stream  of  undeserved  honors, 
suddenly  recovers  his  lost  youth.  He  recalls  the 
love-letters  of  many  years  ago,  and  imploringly 
writes  to  his  loving  heart,  his  blossoming  rosebud ; 
his  heart  aches,  for  she  is  near  and  he  may  not 
see  her.  "  I  may  not  look  into  your  eyes  nor  gaze 
upon  your  dear  little  white  face." 

Such  a  master  as  Vogiie  must  perforce  have 
been  carried  away  by  the  dramatic  possibilities  of 
Mazeppa's  story,  —  the  Mazeppa  bound  to  a  wild 
horse  and  flung  loose  in  the  forest,  to  be  miracu- 
lously saved  and  raised  to  the  very  highest  posts 
of  honor.  And  not  less  fascinating  was  the  story 
of  Alexis,  the  son  of  the  great  Peter,  whose  strange 
vicissitudes   would   fill   a   Shakespearean  canvas. 


EUGkNE  MEL  CHI  OR  DE   VOGU^        145 

Then  Paul  I.,  the  son  of  the  great  Catherine,  com- 
pels his  interest ;  for  his  is  the  life  of  Hamlet 
lived  over  again  two  hundred  years  later  than  his 
literary  prototype.  The  unavenged  shadow  of 
his  father  weighed  heavily  upon  Paul,  as  it  had 
weighed  upon  the  Prince  of  Denmark  ;  and  surely 
the  melancholy  of  the  Tsarewitch,  converted  sud- 
denly at  his  accession  to  the  throne  into  the  most 
intolerant  despotism,  proves  that  in  the  mind  of 
one,  as  in  the  mind  of  the  other  Hamlet,  the  same 
strange,  interesting  lack  of  balance,  verging  upon 
insanity,  was  an  equally  powerful  factor. 

While  yet  Tsarewitch  Paul  wrote  to  his  tutor 
Sacken  :  "  It  is  better  to  be  hated  for  doing  right 
than  adulated  for  doing  wrong."  On  the  morrow 
of  his  coronation  he  forgot  the  God  above,  to  re- 
member only  the  ideal  idol  of  his  own  setting  up, 
—  a  strange  blending  of  Christ,  Don  Quixote,  and 
himself.  Lost  in  the  clouds,  he  cannot  bear  to 
look  down  upon  earthly  interests,  and,  whenever 
he  catches  a  glimpse  of  them,  he  sees  them  wrong. 
Fear  fastens  upon  him.  He  mistrusts  every  mem- 
ber of  his  own  family.  Between  fear  and  ambi- 
tion he  falls  into  melancholia,  and  there  remains 
not  a  vestige  of  trust  or  faith  in  those  about  him, 
still  less  in  himself.  And  wildly  he  seeks  relief 
from  the  impending  madness  in  the  most  unwar- 
rantable despotism. 

The  great  work  of  modern  Kussia,  the  magnifi- 
cent undertaking  of  the  Transcaspian  Railway, 
suggested  to  Vogiie  some  of  the  finest  pages  he 
has  written.  The  man  who  could  write  poetry 
even  while  grinding  out  a  government  report  on 


146        EUGENE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGUE 

the  machinery  exhibit  at  the  recent  "  Exposition  " 
was  not  to  be  hampered  by  the  details  of  such 
an  enterprise.  The  mere  suggestion  was  fine  in 
itself,  the  imdertaking  more  so.  To  build  a  rail- 
road fourteen  hundred  leagues  long  across  the 
Siberian  wilderness,  where  mountains  are  high, 
supplies  are  scant,  and  the  ice  king  holds  his  sway 
with  a  power  second  only  to  that  of  the  Tsar,  was 
indeed  a  grand  conception.  Yet  of  this  gigantic 
undertaking  he  must  speak  modestly,  for  the 
originator  of  this  project,  General  Annenkoff,  is 
his  brother-in-law.  Nevertheless,  and  all  his  re- 
serve notwithstanding,  the  poet  is  unable  to  resist 
the  charm  of  the  wonderful  country  spread  out  be- 
fore him ;  unable  to  resist  the  desire  of  comparing 
the  energy  of  the  conquering  worm  —  man  —  when 
face  to  face  with  the  ponderous,  passive  opposition 
of  nature  ;  unable  to  restrain  his  pen  when  obliged 
to  describe  the  gigantic  struggle  of  Kussian  genius 
and  Kussian  patience  on  the  one  side,  arrayed 
against  Eussian  space  and  Kussian  climate  on  the 
other. 

"  To  the  north  of  the  Caspian  Sea  the  fire-king 
holds  his  sway.  Baku  rises  from  a  burnt  beach 
lapped  by  a  flame-potent  sea,  black,  smoke-encir- 
cled, fire-plumed,  like  some  Dantesque  conception 
of  a  modern  Sodom  deep  down  in  hell.  Fire  has 
made  this,  as  fire  destroyed  that;  and  the  fire- 
king,  petroleum,  reigns  supreme.  As  the  boat 
leaves  the  wharf  a  rank  odor  of  naphtha  pursues 
us,  and  writhing  stringers  of  oil  worm  their  way 
across  the  quivering  waves.  The  little  steamer 
that  runs   from  Baku  to  Ouzoum  Ada  is  densely 


EUGENE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGUE        147 

packed.  Behind  a  crowd  of  Turkomans,  scattered 
over  the  deck,  a  Persian  hareem,  draped  in  folds  of 
pinkish  cotton,  lie  or  squat  under  the  gaze  of  a 
pack  of  Jews,  who  are  going  out  to  see  what  there 
is  to  be  done  in  the  newly  opened  province  of 
Armenia.  Here  a  merchant  of  Kokand,  able  to 
stammer  a  few  words  of  French,  bears  toward  his 
distant  country  a  seed  or  two  gathered  on  French 
soil.  Beyond  again  a  group  of  emigrants  —  some 
thirty-five  men,  women  and  children,  huddled  to- 
gether—  are  bound  for  Asia.  They  have  left 
their  country,  sold  their  last  parcel  of  land,  and 
are  prospecting  for  some  place  '  where  life  may  be 
better  worth  the  living.'  Their  leader,  a  bold,  in- 
telligent-looking man,  answers  my  question  : '  And 
do  you  leave  no  regret  of  home  behind  you  ? ' 
'  Our  home  is  where  we  are,'  he  says  simply, 
stretching  his  arm  toward  the  East.  On  the 
morning  of  the  22d,  after  eighteen  hours'  quiet 
steaming,  we  enter  a  narrow,  shallow  channel, 
dotted  with  little  islands.  The  sea  is  blue,  of  a 
soft  turquoise  blue,  inlaid  with  gold ;  here  and  there 
a  strip  of  yellow  sand,  and  beyond  it  again  blue 
streaks,  fading,  fading  away  into  a  distant  quiver- 
ing white  under  a  hot,  angry  sky  ;  and  still  farther 
beyond  a  dimness  that  moves,  yet  is  neither  alive 
nor  dead." 

Truly  we  may  say  of  Vogiie  — 

"  Many  a  land  he  has  trodden, 
Many  a  hero  sung." 

For,  besides  — 

"  The  glory  that  was  Greece, 
And  the  grandeur  that  was  Rome," 


148        EUGJ^NE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGU^ 

he  has  kissed  the  sand  of  the  Holy  Land,  and 
sung  of  the  aged  waste  of  Egyj)t,  and  told  us  his- 
tories that  happened  in  the  vast  domain  that  lies 
under  the  shadow  of  the  white  Tsar. 

Yet  modern  life,  and  the  achievements  of  mod- 
ern industry,  also  possess  some  charm  for  him; 
and  we  feel  the  spell  that  the  poet  puts  upon  all 
things,  great  or  trivial,  while  reading  his  amazing 
articles  upon  that  apparently  most  prosaic  and 
practical  of  subjects,  "  The  Machinery  Hall  of  the 
Exhibition  of  1889."  Even  after  this  we  must 
add  to  the  table  of  contents ;  for,  when  Leo  XIII. 
was  elected  Pope,  Vogiie  was  sent  to  Rome  as 
official  chronicler.  Victor  Emmanuel,  the  father 
of  modern  Italy,  was  not  so  long  dead  that  the 
tears  of  the  nation  had  dried ;  and  the  country, 
Italia  una,  was  yet  stirred  to  emotion  by  the  very 
mention  of  his  name.  Like  Lamartine,  like  Cha- 
teaubriand, the  diplomat  Vogiie  yielded  before  the 
poet.  Listen  to  the  diplomat's  report :  "  Rome  is 
still  hearkening  to  the  funeral  bells  of  the  dead 
king  who  had  decreed  her  life.  The  city  lends  an 
inattentive  ear  to  the  little  domestic  festivity  at 
the  Vatican.  An  old  man,  whose  discreet  retire- 
ment the  noisy  horn  of  reputation  had  scarcely 
disturbed,  is  gently  assisted  by  other  old  men  to 
the  Sedia  Gestatoria.  In  the  narrow  Sixtine 
Chapel  they  cluster  about  him,  as  retiring  and 
modest  as  the  Pope  himself,  in  dignified,  unosten- 
tatious pomp.  Here  and  there  a  thin  ribbon  of 
the  faithful,  edged  by  sightseers  or  reporters,  note- 
book in  hand,  watches  the  quiet  ceremony.  From 
the  vault  above,  the  greater  men  of  old  look  down, 


EUGENE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGM       149 

smiling  at  the  smaller  man  of  to-day.  The  Sibyls 
and  Prophets,  to  whom  the  brush  of  the  great 
Angelo  lent  something  of  his  sombre  dignity, 
frown  down  upon  the  trifling  performers  below, 
and  it  seems  as  though  from  above  the  solemn 
warning  is  wafted  down :  '  Himian  power  is  a 
fleeting  glory  ; '  and,  indeed,  what  is  human  power 
before  the  clutch  of  Time  ?  No  bells  are  tolling, 
and  it  is  better  so ;  for  were  the  brazen  tongues  to 
speak  it  must  be  for  a  dirge.  Among  this  crowd 
of  indifferent  spectators  many  a  one  has  said  to 
himself :  '  I  must  not  miss  tiiis  ;  ...  it  is  perhaps 
the  last  of  the  Pope.'  " 

Nine  years  later  Vogiie,  once  again  in  Rome,  no 
longer  as  a  diplomat,  writes  thus  :  — 

"  One  afternoon  I  stood  watching  the  sun  sink 
to  sleep  beyond  the  vast  unrolled  shroud  of  the 
Roman  Campagna  —  fleeing,  fleeting  like  a  painted 
sea  toward  the  real  sea  beyond.  The  red  orb 
sank  slowly  toward  Ostia,  and  was  wetted  by  the 
pale  waters.  From  the  village  of  Palazzuola  the 
quavering  sound  of  quivering  chimes  was  wafted 
tremblingly  over  my  head,  and  from  the  distant 
villages  that  cling  to  the  mountain-sides  thin- 
voiced  bells  sent  their  answer.  For  nineteen  hun- 
dred years  they  had  sung  the  same  song  they 
attempted  to  sing  to-day,  —  'The  angel  of  the 
Lord ; '  and  along  the  old  worn  roads  wayfarers 
stopped  as  they  listened  to  the  bells,  and  once 
more  they  blessed  the  event.  Ah,  me,  what  event? 
The  most  trivial,  the  commonest  of  all !  A  wo- 
man, a  woman  of  the  lowest  class,  a  Jewess  of 
the  conquered  tribes  of  Syria,  was  delivered  of  a 


150        EUGENE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGM 

son ;  in  some  unknown  hamlet  far  away  it  hap- 
pened quietly  in  those  days  long  ago ;  and  yet 
to-day  throughout  what  was  once  the  Holy  Roman 
Empire  the  bells  toll  twice  a  day  to  tell  the  tale  at 
each  rising  and  each  setting  of  the  sun.  Other 
events  have  passed  unheeded,  yet  in  their  day  they 
seemed  greater  things,  and  in  their  day  it  seemed 
to  men  that  greater  men  were  born  to  life.  But 
the  birth  of  that  child  has  changed  the  world.  The 
numbering  of  the  years  of  our  world-history 
ceased  to  be  begun  anew,  and  this  birth,  this  abso- 
lutely trivial  event,  is  set  above  all  other  events. 
Whence  and  wherefore  this  supremacy  of  nothing 
over  all  things  ?  so  incontestable  that  even  the 
proudest  say,  '  I  do  not  know  ;  I  cannot  under- 
stand.' And  is  this  confession  of  the  mighty  to 
be  lightly  cast  aside  ?  " 

Again,  a  little  further,  the  suffering  nothing- 
ness, the  thinking  all-ness,  that  is  man,  suggests  to 
Vogii^  one  of  the  finest  comparisons.  A  prince  of 
the  Church  is  dead ;  a  peasant  child  is  born ;  those 
are  the  bare  facts  of  which  Vogiie  writes. 

"  Cardinal  Armellini  sleeps,  the  unfinished  book 
in  his  unclosed  hand.  The  slackened  muscles  of 
his  neck  yield  to  the  weight  of  the  passive  head, 
heavy  with  much  thought.  On  the  monument 
erected  by  himself  to  mark  the  place  where  he 
shall  rest  I  read  these  words :  '  Laden  with  honors, 
bowed  down  under  the  favors  and  the  gifts  of  man 
and  fortune,  I  have  looked  out  upon  the  futility 
of  human  life.  I  was  afeard  that  the  Lord  might 
call  suddenly,  in  the  night,  and  I  made  ready  my 
bed.'      As  I  was  reading  these  words  on  the  car- 


EUGENE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGU^        151 

dinal's  monument,  a  priest  passed  into  a  neighboring 
chapel,  and  behind  him  followed  a  family  clothed 
in  rags.  It  was  a  christening.  I  listened,  and 
behind  them  all  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  saw  the 
mighty  man  of  wealth,  of  worth  and  knowledge, 
slowly  closing  his  book ;  it  seemed  to  me  that  I 
heard  him  say,  '  Life  is  but  a  bubble,'  —  but  then 
a  faint  cry  arrested  my  attention,  and  I  saw  that 
it  was  the  '  frail  red  thing '  clamoring  for  life.  I 
did  not  hear  the  name  as  it  fell  from  the  lips  of 
the  priest,  and  yet  I  knew  it.  I  saw  Dante  ap- 
proaching the  city  of  Dis,  and  I  saw  a  drowning 
man  clutch  at  the  gunwale,  and  heard  him  answer, 
as  the  poet  asked  his  name :  '  Vedi  die  son  un  che 
piango.'  So  was  the  little  newcomer  christened, 
and  so  he  learned  on  the  threshold  of  life  the 
password  that  was  to  guide  him  through  its  toils." 

Vogiie,  among  all  others,  has  the  right  to  say, 
"  Shakespeare  alone  suggests  more  thoughts  than 
all  the  encyclopaedias  of  the  world,  for  he  thrusts 
man  face  to  face  with  his  own  self."  To  him  life 
and  thought  are  ever  synonymous.  The  Angelus 
suggests  the  whole  history  of  Christianity.  The 
wail  of  a  new-born  babe  awakens  the  infinite  com- 
passion of  the  Dante.  Shall  such  a  master-mind 
remain  unknown  to  the  modern  countrymen  of 
Shakespeare  because  he  is  not  translated  into 
English  ? 

After  Rome,  Ravenna.  Over  the  ancient  city 
of  the  Lombards,  where  Theodora  reigned,  Jus- 
tinian lived  and  made  laws ;  later,  the  modern 
Victory,  the  Renaissance,  held  her  sway.  "The 
great  struggle  of  the  Renaissance  has  left  few  scars 


152        EUGENE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGU^ 

that  may  be  recognized  to-day;  yet,  as  I  passed 
under  the  gate  of  San  Giovanni,  I  marked  upon 
the  very  monument  of  Justinian  these  words :  '  ^n 
esjDoir  Dieu^  engraved  thereon,  no  doubt,  by  some 
companion  of  Bayard  when  we  Frenchmen  held  the 
town.  A  solitary,  simple  inscription  —  no  more  ; 
only  one  among  some  ten  thousand  pretentious  or 
conceited  ones  that  cover  the  stones  of  Ravenna, 
yet  one  that  rings  out  clear  and  strong  above  the 
concert  of  all  those  pompous  things  —  the  clarion 
note  of  France  :  En  espoir  Dieu  I  " 

While  dreaming  here  under  the  shadows  of  Jus- 
tinian and  Dante  in  the  cathedral  of  Ravenna  (the 
poet's  bones  were  deposited  in  the  museum,  con- 
tained in  a  simple  box  labeled  "Ossa  Dantis," 
and  carefully  guarded  by  Dante's  daughter,  who 
was  brought  up  in  Ravenna),  —  while  dreaming 
under  the  poet's  shadow,  he  was  roused  by  a  merry, 
whole-souled  Italian  woman,  who  mistook  him  for 
an  Englishman,  and  broke  in  upon  his  meditations 
to  inform  him  that  Ravenna  was  the  heart  of  Italy. 

"  And  you  may  say  the  heart  of  humanity,"  he 
answered  reverently  ;  "  for  here  the  strongest,  as 
also  the  gentlest  soul  may  feel  at  home.  The 
worship  of  all  Italians  for  the  great  man  who  was 
the  creator  of  the  language,  of  the  spirit,  of  the 
whole  political  ideal  of  his  race,  is  tendered  here, 
and  it  is  unequaled  elsewhere." 

The  brief  passages  here  quoted  may,  I  trust, 
show  my  readers  of  what  depths  of  pity,  of  what 
sublime  flights,  our  prose  poet  is  capable.  As  the 
tale  of  life  passes  suddenly  from  the  grave  to  the 
gay,  from  the  gay  to  the  grave,  without  apparent 


EUGENE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGUE       153 

transition  ;  so  Vogiie  often  begins  a  page  of  patlios 
to  close  it  with  a  jest  ;  or,  again,  his  smile  is 
blurred  by  a  tear.  From  Tsarskeselo  to  Ravenna, 
whether  under  the  inspiration  of  Pouchkine  or  of 
Dante,  whether  at  Baku  or  in  Rome  listening  to 
the  chimes  of  the  Angelus,  whether  basking  under 
the  relentlessly  blue  sky  above  the  Acropolis  or 
among  the  ice-fields  of  Siberia,  Vogiie  seeks  ever 
the  secret  springs  of  life,  and  studies  in  mankind 
the  "  fever  called  living."  The  everlasting  human 
tragedy,  wherever  it  may  be  enacted,  becomes  the 
story  of  his  own  life,  and  he  feels,  knows,  suffers 
the  sufferings  of  the  great  human  family  as  if 
those  sufferings  were  his  own.  The  intense  strug- 
gle upwards  of  the  living  thing  called  man  —  so 
weak  and  yet  so  strong,  so  apparently  impotent,  so 
really  powerful,  so  cowardly  and  yet  so  brave  — 
fills  him  with  pity,  with  awe,  with  sympathy,  or 
with  enthusiasm,  and  his  feelings  are  as  over- 
whelming as  though  he  were  himself  the  suffering 
or  conquering  hero  of  whom  he  is  writing.  Like 
Lamartine  or  Musset,  he  possesses  the  same  pro- 
found appreciation,  the  same  power  of  expression ; 
and  he  is  to  the  end  of  this  nineteenth  century 
what  they  were  to  its  beginning.  Like  them,  he 
has  fired  the  enthusiasm  of  the  youth  of  modern 
France,  and  the  rising  generation  has  come  to  him 
for  help  and  hope  and  for  the  faith  that  man  must 
ever  need.  The  old  religious  formulse  no  longer 
satisfy  their  craving ;  the  so-called  pseudo-realism 
of  the  day  has  led  them  away  from  their  ideals  ; 
and  yet  youth,  looking  forward,  not  back,  needs 
faith  and  ideals  to  feed  upon.     Alone  in  France 


154       EUGilNE  MELCHIOR  DE   VOGUE 

to-day  lie  has  had  the  courage  to  speak  frankly  as 
a  great-hearted  lay  preacher,  leaving  religion  as 
religion  alone,  but  proving  by  the  very  sincerity  of 
his  convictions,  by  the  earnestness  of  his  pleading, 
by  the  logic  of  his  arguments,  by  the  limpidity  of 
his  style,  by  the  range  of  his  experience  and  human 
sympathies,  that  an  ideal,  a  belief,  a  standard  of 
right  and  wrong  are  essential  to  man  as  is  breath 
to  every  living  thing.  The  superb  language  of  this 
poet  preacher,  unequaled  to-day  in  France,  has 
aroused  the  enthusiasm  of  the  younger  generation,  as 
well  as  the  admiration  of  his  older  readers ;  for  his 
sincerity,  his  experience,  his  genuine  Christianity, 
are  so  far  beyond  discussion  that  the  man  is  for- 
gotten in  the  things  he  has  written.  It  is  a  power, 
not  an  individual,  that  speaks ;  and  yet  it  is  essen- 
tially a  man  speaking  to  a  fellow-man,  undeterred 
by  possible  consequences  to  himself,  so  long  as  the 
truth  be  known  and  understood.  Without  even 
mentioning  the  Book,  or  any  name  that  might 
antagonize  professed  or  professional  skeptics,  he 
has  contrived  to  evolve  in  the  mind  of  all  his 
readers  the  conviction  that  faith,  hope,  and  charity 
sum  up  the  primary  duties  of  man  toward  himself 
and  toward  his  neighbor,  and  to  these  he  has  added 
duty,  the  basis  of  all  honor,  teaching  thereby  that 
love  and  cheerful  resignation  are  really  the  essence 
of  all  good ;  teaching  besides,  by  implication,  that 
true  beauty  involves,  demands  an  ideal,  and  thus 
protesting  against  the  worship  of  materialism. 

The  impulse  once  given,  others  were  found  to 
direct  it  into  special  channels.  Albert  de  Mun, 
the  impassioned  orator,  inspired  by  the  doctrines 


EUGilNE  MELCHIOR  DE    VOGUE        155 

of  Vogiie,  applied  them  in  a  practical  way  to  the 
advantage  of  the  working-classes,  for  whom  he 
claimed  an  increase  of  material  comforts,  more 
security,  a  better  class-organization,  and  especially 
the  lightening  of  the  burden  borne  by  woman. 
The  "  Pasteur  "  Wagner,  author  of  two  remarkable 
books,  "Justice"  and  "  Jeunesse,"  followed  the 
same  trend  of  thought,  less  as  a  preacher  than  as  a 
philosopher.  And  yet  Vogiie  stands  alone.  He 
can  be  neither  imitated  nor  copied.     His  disciples 

—  perhaps  it  were  wiser  to  say  his  active  admirers 

—  have  understood  the  principles  of  his  philoso- 
phy ;  and  each,  according  to  his  powers,  has  fol- 
lowed in  the  master's  steps,  in  the  attempt  to 
revive  a  higher  ideal  among  those  whom,  as  legis- 
lators or  churchmen,  they  are  able  to  reach. 


FERDINAND  BRUNETI^RE 


From  the  whole  of  a  literary  work  may  be 
gathered  the  surest  glimpse  of  the  author's  per- 
sonality. In  the  case  of  such  a  literary  critic  as 
Ferdinand  Brunetiere,  the  private  idiosyncrasies 
of  the  writer  constitute  his  best  safeguard  against 
any  charges  of  injustice  or  partiality.  If  from 
the  very  writings  of  a  man  we  can  draw  proofs  of 
his  literary  austerity,  of  his  sensibility,  of  his  dis- 
interestedness, of  all,  in  a  word,  that  liberates  the 
pronouncements  of  his  pen  from  the  accusation  of 
prejudice,  we  not  only  render  homage  to  the  per- 
sonal merits  of  the  man,  but,  above  all,  we  sweep 
away  any  suspicion  of  injustice  or  arbitrary  judg- 
ment in  the  writer. 

The  reader  who  has  heard  Brunetiere  saying  of 
Lamartine,!  "I  lament  with  you,  gentlemen,  the 
poverty  of  Lamartine,  because  that  poverty  has 
injured  his  reputation  as  a  poet,  and  because  that 
poverty  has  the  noblest  origin,  its  source  lying  in 
greatness  of  soul  and  innate  prodigality ; "  the 
reader  who  has  heard  him  congratulate  Alj^honse 
Daudet  on  "never  having  had  recourse  to  liber- 
tinism to  excite  interest ;  "  has  heard  him  as  enthu- 
siastic over  Bossuet's  tenderness  as  in  revolt  against 

1  Lectures  on  the  Lyric  Poetry  of  the  Nineteenth  Century. 


FERDINAND  BRUNETI^RE  157 

the  hardness  of  Fenelon,  that  false  seraphic ;  finally 
has  heard  him  maintain  that  "  sensibility  is  the 
supreme  quality  of  man,  because  it  alone  contains 
the  very  essence  of  human  beings,"  —  the  reader 
thus  informed,  who  can  appeal  from  Brunetiere 
the  writer  to  Brunetiere  the  thinker,  will  be  much 
less  likely  to  believe  that  this  critic  expresses  pri- 
vate rancor  when  he  makes  a  stand  against  the 
monotonous  lubricity  of  the  Naturalists,  or  against 
the  vulgarity  of  certain  decrees  of  the  crowd. 
Even  if  the  private  morality  of  a  writer  is  no  con- 
cern of  the  public,  when  it  happens  that  this  inti- 
mate morality  modifies  the  quality  of  his  work,  it 
becomes  necessary  to  speak  of  it.  It  is  well  that 
the  reader  should  know  that  Brunetiere's  system- 
atic attack  on  Zola  has  nothing  to  do  with  Zola 
himself,  nor  with  the  sale  of  his  books  ;  but  that 
this  attack  from  the  first  has  been  prompted  by 
disgust  at  seeing  Zola  pander  to  the  basest  appe- 
tites of  the  public.  It  is  imperative  that  the  reader 
be  persuaded  that  Brunetiere's  indignation  is  not 
directed  against  the  author  of  "  Nana,"  nor  against 
Hector  Malot,  or  any  other  Naturalist ;  but  that 
his  vehement  attacks  are  aimed  at  the  filthy  pic- 
tures Zola  lingers  over,  and  the  newspaper  gossip 
upon  which  Malot  usually  bases  the  plots  of  his 
plays,  too  frequently  drawing  them  from  the  para- 
graphic reports  of  incidents  of  Parisian  life.^ 

1  "One  of  the  reasons  of  the  perishableness  of  novels 
based  upon  transient  incidents,"  says  Brunetiere  in  his  Study 
of  the  Naturalists,  "is  the  ephemeral  nature  of  the  incidents 
they  relate.  Characters  and  not  circumstances  give  dura- 
bility to  novels." 


158  FERDINAND  BRUNETIME 

When  the  reader  shall  have  formed  an  accurate 
idea  of  the  delicacy  of  a  mind  which  recognizes 
"  the  existence  in  the  depth  of  souls  of  recesses 
where  even  the  caress  of  the  softest  hand  dare  not 
venture  ; "  when  he  has  a  sure  knowledge  that  in 
reading  Brunetiere  he  is  face  to  face  with  a  na- 
ture which  revolts  against  interested  adulation,  and 
whose  whole  activities,  of  pen  and  speech,  are  solely 
vowed  to  vindicate  respect  for  the  dignity  of  life, 
and,  above  all,  to  the  elevation  of  the  moral  plane 
of  the  literature  of  fiction,  he  will  be  still  farther 
from  injustice  to  one  of  the  most  militant  and 
eminent  of  our  thinkers.  More  than  any  other 
critic,  Brunetiere  has  enemies,  because  he  heeds 
them  not.  In  his  quality  of  autocrat  of  triumph- 
ant convictions,  he  disdains  and  ignores  them.  To 
enter  the  Sorbonne  through  the  Academy  ^  as  pro- 
fessor, at  the  request  of  the  most  reactionary  and 
conventional  body  of  France,  without  any  of  the 
hierarchical  degrees  exacted,  but  upon  the  sole 
authority  of  talent,  was  enough  to  excite  the  anger 
of  officialism ;  how  much  more  when  the  professor- 
ship is  followed  by  triumph  ? 

During  the  three  winter  months  of  1894,  the 
most  fashionable  public  of  Paris  was  seen  to  forfeit 
its  hour  in  the  Bois,  and  crowd  into  the  corridors 
of  the  Sorbonne,  at  the  risk  of  life  (the  crush  was 
such  that  it  was  nothing  less),  as  in  1891, 1892,  and 

1  A  professor  of  the  Sorbonne  must  be  a  Doctor.  Brune- 
tiere is  only  a  Bachelor.  But  this  law  does  not  apply  to 
members  of  the  Academy.  Thus  Brunetiere  became  a  pro- 
fessor on  entering  the  Academy,  instead  of  becoming  an 
Academician  because  he  was  a  professor. 


FERDINAND  BRUNETlkRE  159 

1893  that  same  public  had  rushed  to  the  Odeon. 
Since  the  famous  "crushes"  of  the  "  Mariage  de 
Figaro,"  nothing  had  ever  been  seen  to  be  com- 
pared with  the  course  of  lectures  on  Bossuet  in 
1894.  Such  sights  formed  big  grievances  in  the 
envious  mind  against  their  hero.  The  climax  of 
these  public  tributes  of  admiration  was  the  direc- 
tion of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  which  a 
committee  of  the  most  prominent  men  of  Paris 
unanimously  offered  Brunetiere  in  that  same  year 
of  1894.  The  writer  had  engendered  the  orator, 
I  might  even  say  the  preacher,  for  his  method  as 
a  lecturer  was  destined  to  introduce  considerable 
innovations  into  this  art. 

The  reform  was  accomplished  the  day  Brunetiere 
summoned  before  his  judgment-bar  all  the  crea- 
tions of  Corneille  and  Racine,  and,  lending  life  to 
platonic  causes,  convicted,  vehemently  and  without 
compromise,  the  superhuman  heroism  of  the  one 
in  the  name  of  the  impassioned  sensibility  of  the 
other  ;  when,  with  the  inspiration  of  a  convinced 
advocate,  he  contrasted  the  complex  tenderness  of 
Phedre  with  the  simple  impulse  of  Camilla  and 
Pauline.  Above  all  was  this  accomplished  by  our 
critic  the  day  he,  untrammeled  thinker,  if  not  free- 
thinker, raised  a  moral  statue  to  Bossuet  before  a 
numerous  ecclesiastical  audience,  the  audience  of 
the  Bossuet  course  being  one  third  composed  of 
priests.  He  had  substituted  an  animated  and  im- 
passioned debate  for  a  mild  lesson. 

Later  on  I  will  describe  the  development  of  this 
work,  which  is  certainly  his  special  achievement. 
I  refer  to  the  "  free  and  gratuitous  lesson,"  where 


160  FERDINAND  BRUNETI^RE 

the  audience  is  equally  free  from  "  subscription  " 
and  from  "  inscription."  It  is  this  innovation  pre- 
cisely that  may  be  regarded  as  his  work.  To  it  is 
due  the  fact  that  he  is  now  illustrious,  discussed, 
admired,  abhorred,  and  famed,  —  the  last  state,  as 
Madame  du  Deffand  said,  being  the  immediate  and 
necessary  result  of  being  famous. 

However,  if  the  Conference-Oratoire,  in  which 
Brunetiere  shines  alone,  is  his  most  individual  work 
—  since  it  required  his  eloquence  and  the  clear- 
ness of  his  style,  as  well  as  that  of  his  mind  —  if 
this  is  his  work  above  all,  it  is  not  the  only  one  of 
a  life  yet  young  and  already  so  filled  with  labor.^ 

There  is  Brunetiere  the  orator,  but  there  was 
Brunetiere  the  critic  before,  and  since  the  appear- 
ance of  the  articles  of  January  and  May,  1895, 
we  have  Brunetiere  the  philosopher,  without  for- 
getting that  before,  since,  and  along  with  the  ora- 
tor, there  was  Brunetiere  the  eminent  contributor 
to  the  review  which  to-day  he  directs.  A  subtle, 
profound  writer,  without  pedantry,  who  for  more 
than  twenty-five  years  has  had  something  fresh  to 
say  upon  the  worn-out  themes  of  Saiute  -  Beuve, 
flashing  his  own  peculiar  clarity  of  interpretation 
over  the  seventeenth  century,  which  he  adores,  over 
the  eighteenth,  which  he  execrates  (this  passion, 
for  or  against,  is  the  vivifying  element  of  Brune- 
tiere's  talent),  over  all  these  vanished  ages.  His 
eclectic  mind  retreats  before  neither  national  myths 
nor  the  severe  limits  of  Chauvinism.     His  admira- 

1  He  was  born  July  19, 1849  :  on  my  table,  for  consultation 
in  writing  these  pages,  are  eighteen  volumes,  and  he  has  at 
least  another  eight  in  preparation. 


FERDINAND  BRUNETlilRE  161 

tion  for  George  Eliot  makes  him  place  this  foreign 
lady  above  Flaubert.  "  In  her  writings  George 
Eliot  has  the  advantage  over  Flaubert  of  not  resort- 
ing to  adultery.  The  observation  of  simple  facts 
suffices  her  without  the  aid  of  crime."  Careless 
of  the  epoch  as  well  as  of  the  writers,  he  gives  the 
Middle  Ages  their  share  of  blame.  "  Our  rhymed 
tales  of  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries  are  igno- 
ble agglomerations  of  indecency  and  filth." 

I  purposely  insist  on  Brunetiere's  antipathy  for 
the  unclean,  before  examining  him  as  a  critic,  so 
that  the  reader  may  have  a  clear  notion  of  how 
much  the  decisions  of  the  writer  are  influenced  by 
the  conscience  of  the  man. 


Towards  1870  Ferdinand  Brunetiere  first  ap- 
peared in  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  not 
only  as  contributor,  but  as  secretary  of  editorial 
departments,  a  mission  already  sanctified  by  a  mar- 
tyrology  whose  chief  figure  was  Victor  de  Mars,  a 
true  character  of  Dickens,  killed  by  scruples  and 
by  "  proofs."  The  deity  of  the  place  was  rather  of 
the  thundering  than  of  the  effusive  kind,  but  a  Ju- 
piter Tonans  that  beholds  the  flashes  of  alien  genius 
without  anger.  This  perhaps  was  the  cause  of  the 
excellent  understanding  between  the  brilliant  new- 
comer and  his  director.  This  same  period  saw  the 
rise  of  another  star  in  the  review,  Vogiie,  whose 
"  Voyage  en  Palestine  "  announced  a  picturesque 
and  fantastic  course,  interrupted  by  the  Exhibition 
of  1889,  which  became  the  occasion  for  a  most  pro- 
ductive pause.     The  admirable  pages  in  which  this 


162  FERDINAND  BRUNETIERE 

modern  Chateaubriand  was  inspired  by  the  iron 
structure  of  the  Eiffel  Tower  to  "  Thousand-and- 
One-Nights  "  suggestions  will  long  be  remembered. 
In  the  Kue  Bonaparte,  in  1872,  Brunetiere  and 
Vogiie  met  daily  in  the  editor's  room,  and  talked 
for  hours,  both  by  the  clearness  of  their  teachings 
destined  to  react  so  effectively  against  the  graceful 
dilettantism  of  Renan,  both  to  prove  such  militant 
enemies  of  "  Perhaps  "  and  "  What  matter  ?  " 
The  two  minds  supplemented  each  other,  Brune- 
tiere all  logic,  and  Vogiie  all  poetry  and  fancy. 

Brunetiere  began  his  campaign  against  natural- 
ism in  1875  by  an  article  on  "  La  Faute  de  I'Abbe 
Mouret."  Here  his  attack  is  not  solely  against  the 
young  novelist  "  because  his  book  is  full  of  revolt- 
ing pictures,  of  indecency,  of  gross  impiety,  and  of 
repulsive  cynicism,  but  also  because,"  adds  Brune- 
tiere, "  one  asks  one's  self  first,  what  has  become  of 
the  honest  clarity  of  the  French  tongue  ;  after- 
wards, if  the  last  term  of  art  is  to  lead  to  the  per- 
sistent degradation  of  man,  is  to  paint  man  laughing 
the  laugh  of  shameless  brute,  or  panting  like  a 
snared  animal  under  suffering,  or  repenting  '  as  if 
monsters  were  fighting  in  his  entrails.' "  Such  an 
art,  continues  the  critic,  is  not  realistic,  because 
the  truth  of  characters  alone  constitutes  the  realism 
of  a  study,  and  where  everything  is  forced,  the  re- 
sult is  caricature.  If  Zola,  he  adds,  sometimes 
succeeds  in  breathing  a  momentary  life  into  his 
characters,  Hector  Malot  and  his  other  imitators 
hardly  succeed  in  making  manikins.  "  There  is 
no  heart  that  has  never  been  moved,"  cries  Brune- 
tiere, "no  mind  that  has  never  thought,  no  imagi- 


FERDINAND  BRUNETlkRE  163 

nation  that  has  never  dreamed,  as  Malot  would 
have  us  believe  in  the  '  Mariage  de  Juliette,'  the 
'Mari  de  Charlotte,'  the  'Heritage  d' Arthur.' " 
Here  he  breaks  off  to  tell  the  naturalists  that  inde- 
cency and  low  descriptions  are  so  perfectly  useless 
to  the  vraisemhlance  of  the  experimental  novel 
that  Chateaubriand  was  able  to  write  "  Rene  "  and 
Goethe  "Werther,"  these  two  masters  in  their 
books  giving  the  most  precise  and  circumstantial 
"  minutes  "  of  passion  without  ever  offending  the 
reader's  delicacy.  In  "  Manon  Lescaut,"  even 
truth  itself,  even  the  "  lived  "  does  not  fall  into  the 
ignoble ;  and  as  for  Richardson  and  Rousseau,  who, 
above  all  others,  had  the  art  of  making  the  hearts 
of  their  heroines  throb,  neither  one  nor  the  other 
found  it  necessary  to  be  gross  in  order  to  be  true. 
Flaubert  is  the  only  Naturalist  who  finds  mercy 
at  the  critic's  hands.  Flaubert's  supreme  artistic 
virtue,  in  Brunetiere's  eyes,  is  his  impersonality, 
the  fact  that  he  never  makes  a  tool  of  his  char- 
acters for  the  expression  of  his  own  sentiments. 
"  Above  all,  Flaubert  knows  his  trade.  Such  is 
his  marvelous  knowledge  of  it  that  he  extended 
it,"  and  the  reserve  with  which  Brunetiere  follows 
such  warmth  of  praise  is  prompted  by  George 
Eliot.  "  Flaubert  creates  life  from  the  quality  of 
dullness,  with  a  Homais,  a  cure  Bournisieu,  but 
George  Eliot  has  done  better.  She  found  the 
means  of  creating  nobility  from  the  commonplace 
and  vulgar  in  'Adam  Bede,'  and  in  'The  Mill  on 
the  Floss.'  "  ^     In  our  critic's  opinion,  Flaubert's 

1  Perhaps  we  should  plead  for  the  alteration  of  the  words 
"  vulgar  "  and  "  commonplace  "  :  Adam  Bede  bears  uo  vul- 
gar or  commonplace  character. 


164  FERDINAND  BRUNETIERE 

irresistible  gift  is  his  art  of  "  inserting  the  appro- 
priate word  in  the  frame  of  a  phrase."  It  needed 
nothing  less  than  these  special  literary  gifts  to 
make  him  forgive  Flaubert  the  free  candor,  for 
example,  of  some  of  his  letters  to  Madame  Sand : 
"  At  the  last  Magny  i  the  talk  fell  to  that  of  hall- 
porters.  They  spoke  of  nothing  but  Bismarck 
and  the  Luxembourg."  The  question  of  the  ur- 
gent need  for  impassibility  in  the  writer  preoccu- 
pies Flaubert.  He  holds  that  no  writing  should 
contain  a  vestige  of  individuality,  and  Madame 
Sand  replies,  "  On  the  contrary,  one  should  only 
write  with  the  heart,  and  not  for  a  restricted 
number  of  persons.  We  should  write  for  all  who 
may  profit  by  good  reading.  Besides,"  she  adds, 
making  an  open  allusion  to  the  failure  of  "L'Edu- 
cation  sentimentale,"  which  had  cost  Flaubert  seven 
years  of  labor,  "  if  you  were  sincere  in  your  asser- 
tion of  having  only  written  for  twelve  persons  capa- 
ble of  understanding  you,  you  would  laugh  at  your 
unsuccess,  instead  of  being  affected  by  it."  To 
which  Flaubert,  no  doubt  irritated,  replied,  continu- 
ing to  unfold  his  theory  on  impersonality  :  "  I  am 
convinced  that  a  novelist  should  not  let  his  opinion 
be  known,  God  himself  never  having  given  his  on 
creation.  That  is  why  there  are  things  I  would 
like  to  spit  out,  which  I  swallow  back,  because, 
after  all,  the  first-comer  is  more  likely  to  resemble 
the  rest  of  his  fellows  than  Gustave  Flaubert." 

It  is  certainly  out  of  regard  for  this  imperson- 
ality  that    Brunetiere  finally  consents  to  declare 
"  Madame  Bo  vary  "  a  masterpiece,  but  an  incom- 
^  A  monthly  dinner  of  men  of  letters. 


FERDINAND  BRUNETlilRE  165 

plete  one,  through  its  "  lack  of  elevation."  Equally 
lacking  in  elevation  are  "  A^iyadee,"  the  "  Mariage 
de  Loti,"  "  Mon  Frere  Yves  ;  "  the  plot  of  the  last 
being  nothing  but  the  narration  of  the  intoxication 
of  yesterday  and  the  intoxication  of  to-day.  AVith 
the  exception  of  "  Pecheur  d'Islande,"  Loti's  works 
only  excite  Brunetiere  to  controversy.  Daudet's 
hardly  please  him  more,  save  "  L'Evangeliste," 
which,  being  less  encumbered  with  characters  and 
of  more  chastened  style,  wins  his  approval. 

Maupassant  holds  the  first  place  after  Flaubert 
in  the  critic's  esteem.  He  allows  him  clarity,  fin- 
ish, rapidity ;  he  even  recognizes  in  him  a  more 
natural  "  gift  of  style  "  than  Flaubert's.  "  "VVe  do 
not  see  him  torturing  himself  to  find  a  phrase  or 
avoid  a  repetition."  Let  us  remember  that  this 
praise  implies,  on  Brunetiere's  part,  forgetfidness 
of  the  fact  that  Flaubert  was  Maupassant's  mas- 
ter. In  Maupassant's  work  the  short  tales  win 
Brunetiere's  approval,  and  these  little  nouvelles, 
masterpieces,  indeed,  of  brevity  and  subtle  psy- 
chology, owe  their  value  to  Flaubert's  teachings, 
so  that  justly  all  the  praise  reverts  to  the  master. 

I  shall  return  presently  to  Brunetiere  the  lec- 
turer, to  complete  his  criticisms  of  his  times.  In 
the  series  of  lectures  on  the  "  Lyrics  of  the  Nine- 
teenth Century "  he  travels  from  Chenier  to  Le- 
conte  de  Lisle,  and  from  Chateaubriand  to  Bourget. 
But  before  returning  to  these  subjects  of  the  day, 
the  English  reader  should  get  a  glimpse  of  Brune- 
tiere in  the  society  of  Louis  Quatorze's  century, 
wherein  he  has  won,  by  election,  a  retrospective 
place.     I  wish  to  show  for  an  instant  his  tender- 


166  FERDINAND  BRUNETIMe 

ness  for  Bossuet,  which  reserved  for  the  audience 
of  the  lecturer  in  1894  the  revelation  of  certain 
aspects,  till  now  unrecognized,  in  the  great  bishop. 

Brunetiere  loves  the  seventeenth  century  as 
Sainte-Beuve  and  Cousin  loved  it.  He  loves  this 
century  through  his  passion  for  Bossuet,  but  he 
loves  it  above  all  through  an  innate  tendency  to- 
ward an  outward  show  of  decorum  very  much  in 
keeping  with  that  period ;  as  Sainte-Beuve  loved 
it  through  his  passion  for  Jansenism,  as  Cousin 
loved  it  through  his  passion  for  the  fair  "  Fron- 
deuses."  The  society  in  which  Bossuet  lived  is 
Brunetiere's  own  intimate  society.  He  breathes  its 
very  air  in  thought.  He  is  so  imbued  with  it  that 
he  gives  us  to-day  in  his  own  person  an  excellent 
presentment  of  the  man  of  the  world  of  Madame 
de  Sevigne's  time,  better  known  as  "I'honnete 
homme." 

If  he  has  not,  like  Sainte-Beuve  and  Cousin, 
written  big  volumes  on  this  period  of  his  predilec- 
tion, he  is  still  young  enough  to  write  them,  and 
his  life,  now  flooded  with  articles  and  lectures, 
leaves  him  no  leisure  at  present.  A  few  quota- 
tions, gathered  haphazard  from  his  works  on  this 
epoch,  will  suffice  to  show  how  vividly  he  lives  by 
the  passions  of  the  heart,  with  Bossuet  against 
Fenelon,  with  Madame  de  la  Valliere  against  the 
Favorites,  with  the  public  against  Fouquet ;  in  a 
word,  how  intimate  he  is  with  the  persons  and 
events  of  that  period,  hardly  less  so  than  with 
those  of  his  own  time.  In  his  study  of  Bossuet's 
philosophy,  he  declares  Bossuet  the  greatest  of 
orators,  because  the  interests  treated  of  in  his  ser- 


FERDINAND  BRUNETltlRE  167 

mons  are  above  those  which  prompted  the  speeches 
of  Cicero,  Demosthenes,  ami  Mirabeau.  "But 
this  is  not  all ;  I  wish  to  prove  that  the  eloquence 
of  Bossuet  is  humbler,  milder,  more  persuasive 
than  imperious,  and  that  his  soul  reveals  the  trea- 
sures of  native  simplicity."  If  the  Bishop  of 
Meaux's  ingenuousness  excites  our  writer's  enthu- 
siasm, his  faith,  which  makes  him  assert  "  the  here- 
tic is  he  who  holds  an  opinion,"  —  that  "  faith  in 
Providence,  which  is  one  of  the  stepping-stones  of 
Bossuet's  soul,"  —  seems  to  delight  Brunetiere  still 
more.  "  He  is  the  inventor  of  Providence,"  .  .  . 
he  corrects  himself ;  "I  do  not  precisely  say  that 
he  invented  it ;  if  I  dared  to  say  so  he  would  shud- 
der with  anger  and  indignation." 

"  The  Stoics  had  already  accepted  Providence ; 
Lucretius  admitted  it  in  '  Nature  ; '  Boethius,  Chry- 
sostom,  and  Gregory  of  Nyssa  had  also  hymned 
its  praises.  But  Bossuet  in  his  books,"  continues 
Brunetiere,  "has  made  it  the  basis  of  his  entire 
teaching.  He  brings  all  his  learning  to  bear 
upon  Divine  Action  among  humanity." 

"  L'Histoire  des  Variations  des  Eglises  protes- 
tantes,"  above  all,  calls  up  the  critic's  liveliest 
admiration.  "  This  work  is  not  only  one  of  the 
most  formidable  machines  directed  against  Protes- 
tantism, but  it  is  also  the  finest  book  in  the  French 
language,  and  adds  to  all  its  other  merits  that  of 
being  a  work  as  impassioned  as  it  is  sincere."  A 
less  superficial  knowledge  of  Brunetiere's  senti- 
ments in  literature  and  sociology  leads  us  to  con- 
clude that  his  profound  passion  for  Bossuet  is  as 
much  inspired   by   his   admiration   of   the   great 


168  FERDINAND  BRUNETlkRE 

bishop  as  by  the  uncompromising  spirit  the  two 
men  have  in  common.  Bossuet  does  not  veil  the 
expression  of  his  thought  even  when  he  speaks  of 
princes.  He  dares  to  say  in  the  funeral  oration 
on  Anne  de  Gonzague,  "  She  rose  from  intemper- 
ance of  the  senses  to  intemperance  of  the  mind." 
The  same  audacity  encourages  him  to  attack  intel- 
lectual pride,  without  any  indirectness  :  "  Erudite 
and  learned  men,  why  make  such  an  ado  about 
your  reason,  so  constantly  astray  and  ever  limited?  " 
It  is  this  freedom  of  attitude  that  charms  Brune- 
tiere  quite  as  much  as  Bossuet's  genius. 

Speaking  of  Mademoiselle  la  Valliere's  retreat, 
our  critic  goes  still  further  in  his  partiality,  for  he 
actually  explains  the  favorite's  sentiments  by  his 
own,  and  supposes  gratitude  in  La  Valliere  toward 
Bossuet  for  a  proceeding  that  forever  removed  her 
from  all  that  was  dearest  to  her.  "  One  of  Ma- 
dame la  Valliere's  principal  reasons  for  being 
attached  to  Bossuet,"  writes  Brunetiere,  "  was 
that  the  friendship  of  such  a  courageous  man  pre- 
vented her  from  growing  old  among  the  basenesses 
of  the  Court."  True,  Mademoiselle  la  Valliere 
deserves  that  we  should  credit  her  with  much  gen- 
erosity, but  here  Brunetiere,  substituting  himself 
for  her,  perhaps  goes  rather  far ;  it  is  hardly  prob- 
able that,  at  the  time  Bossuet  was  directing  her 
toward  the  religious  life,  she  had  the  strength  to 
bless  him,  though  she  had  sufficient  force  to  obey 
him,  which  is  quite  another  moral  process. 

This  attraction,  by  reason  of  an  analogous  tem- 
perament in  Bossuet  and  Brunetiere,  becomes  still 
more  evident  when,  in  treating  of  the  preachers  of 


FERDINAND  BRUNETIERE  169 

the  elghteentli  century,  Brunetiere  quotes  Bourda- 
loue  in  preference  to  Massillon,  and  even  selects 
from  Bourdaloue's  sermons  such  aggressive  pas- 
sages as:  "The  reason  why  men  are  unjust, 
haughty,  and  sensual  is  because  they  are  rich,  or 
they  have  the  passion  for  becoming  rich."  Brune- 
tiere's  preference  for  attack  to  the  satyr's  caress, 
to  flattery,  is  one  of  the  characteristics  of  his  tem- 
per, felt  through  all  his  work ;  one  of  those  features 
which  I  pointed  out  in  the  beginning  as  the  stamp 
of  his  personality  above  everything  else.  With 
the  same  easy  grace,  Brunetiere  says  again,  speak- 
ing of  the  surintendant  Fouquet,  "  Fouquet  was 
only  a  cheat ;  he  simply  represents  the  passion  of 
money  in  all  its  grossness."  Rapine  in  palaces  or 
genius  in  misfortune,  it  is  all  one  in  Brunetiere's 
eyes.  He  sees  only  the  fact ;  and  if  he  declares 
Fouquet  a  culprit,  he  recognizes  a  victim  of  gen- 
erosity in  Lamartine,  utterly  indifferent  to  the 
partisans  for  or  against  his  statement. 

I  have  been  particular  in  exposing  those  fea- 
tures in  Brunetiere's  work  which  underlie  his  own 
individuality :  his  worship  of  human  dignity,  his 
contempt  for  money,  his  disdain  for  flattery  —  all 
idiosyncrasies  which  strongly  influence  the  critic's 
severity  toward  the  demoralizing  literature  of  the 
Naturalists  ;  a  literature  that  is  generally  little  else 
but  excitement  of  the  least  noble  instincts  in  hu- 
manity. In  a  word,  he  is  chiefly  concerned  in 
literature  with  its  ethical  purport. 

It  is  this  preponderance  of  the  moralist  in  his 
critical  judgments  that  explains  Brunetiere's  se- 
verity toward  Baudelaire,  for  example,  and  the 


170  FERDINAND  BRUNETIME 

"  Fleurs  du  Mai,"  which  he  qualifies  as  "  a  scan- 
dal." "  One  of  the  grave  errors  of  this  unhealthy- 
literature,"  he  writes,  "  is  its  insistence  on  an  arti- 
ficial art,  —  on  an  art  which,  instead  of  imitating 
nature,  pursues  and  finds  its  inspiration  in  every- 
thing that  is  anti-natural,  reaching,  as  result,  the 
three  conditions  of  exhaustion,  —  brutality,  the 
state  of  seeming,  and  the  candor  of  the  idiot." 
Yet  another  of  Brunetiere's  delicacies  of  feeling 
is  his  horror  of  a  writer's  occupying  the  public 
with  his  personal  sufferings.  Thus  he  reproaches 
Lamartine  with  having  presented  Elvire  to  his 
readers,  thereby  exposing  her  to  the  blame  of  a 
few  and  to  the  jeers  of  all.  "  The  writer  should 
not  solicit  for  himself  a  sympathy  that  only  his 
works  or  his  actions  should  win  him." 

Through  more  than  twenty-five  years  of  labor 
Brunetiere,  whose  criticism  has  been  besought  for 
every  kind  of  work,  has  written  in  his  fortnightly 
pages  of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  "  criticisms 
of  every  modern  literary  work  except  the  contem- 
porary drama,  which,  after  all,  was  outside  his 
domain.  In  this  broadly  limned  sketch,  where  I 
have  shown  him,  first  in  French  Naturalist  litera- 
ture of  the  day,  then  in  the  seventeenth  century 
familiar  and  sympathetic  among  his  retrospective 
friends  of  predilection,  —  through  all  these  varied 
evolutions  it  has  been  my  aim  to  show  him  giving 
liimself  in  his  writings,  and,  above  all,  eager  for 
every  occasion  of  enunciating  his  moral  apprecia- 
tions ;  we  ever  find  him  homogeneous,  always  true 
to  his  line  of  conduct.  He  lashes  the  grossness  of 
the  primitive  rhymed  tales  just  as  insistently  as  he 


FERDINAND  BRUNETlkRE  171 

does  the  most  accomplished  description  of  the  mod- 
ern realistic  novelist.  I  have  striven  to  point  out 
the  lofty  severity  of  soul  the  critic  always  main- 
tains, and  to  what  degree  his  mind  is  ever  con- 
cerned for  the  elevation  of  thought  in  the  reader. 

Now  let  us  consider  him  as  a  lecturer,  so  that, 
uniting  the  thinker  with  the  man  of  action,  the 
reader  may  have  a  more  precise  conception  of  the 
militant  character  of  the  most  "acting"  of  our 
men  of  letters,  of  a  man  of  letters  who  is  the 
apostle  of  intellectual  elevation  in  France. 


In  November,  1891,  the  Odeon  theatre  engaged 
Ferdinand  Brunetiere  to  give  a  series  of  fifteen 
lectures  on  the  Classic  Drama.  Since  1889  he 
had  been  master  of  the  lecture-hall  at  the  Ecole 
Normale.  He  was  asked  to  explain  to  the  public 
the  pieces  about  to  be  acted,  from  the  critical  and 
aesthetic  point  of  view ;  to  make  a  fashionable 
Parisian  audience  understand  the  whole  evolution 
of  the  French  theatre,  from  Corneille  to  Emile 
Augier.  One  should  have  heard  Brunetiere 
throw  light  on  the  plastic  "  hits  "  of  Racine  in 
"  Phedre,"  those  lines  where  the  heroine's  attitude 
is  dictated  by  the  words  :  "  Je  ne  me  soutiens  plus, 
Enone  ; "  "  Que  ces  vains  ornemens  me  lassent  et 
me  pesent ;  "  where  Phedre  leaning  upon  the  nurse 
disturbs  her  headdress.  No  less  vivid,  though 
much  more  partial,  was  his  comparative  study  of 
Corneille  and  Racine,  all  his  sympathies  being 
enlisted  on  the  side  of  Racine,  "  the  man  of  feel- 
ing," against  Corneille,  the  superhuman. 


172  FERDINAND  BRUNETlilRE 

Nothiug  escapes  tlie  "  professor-lecturer,"  and 
those  wlio  have  not  heard  his  classic  lessons  will 
miss  the  entire  synthesis  that  a  single  verse  of 
Racine  often  contains ;  as,  for  instance,  when 
Pyrrhus  rests  the  whole  evolution  of  the  play  on 
these  few  words :  "  Madame,  en  I'embrassant, 
songez  a  le  sauver ; "  or  when  Phedre  gives  voice 
to  all  her  perplexities  in  one  sole  line :  "  Hippolyte 
est  sensible,  il  ne  sent  rien  pour  moi."  Brunetiere 
is  essentially  "  modern."  We  cannot  complain 
that  the  absolutism  of  Corneille  repels  him,  and 
certainly  no  one  can  deny  the  advantage  to  Racine's 
plays  —  which  our  modern  romantic  needs  in  spite 
of  ourselves  force  us  to  qualify  as  conventional 
—  of  the  rays  of  such  an  intellect  directed  vipon 
his  theatre.  Corneille's  work  has  a  formal  move- 
ment of  passion ;  the  lines  have  the  sweep  of  an 
eagle's  wing,  but  this  flight  is  always  toward  eter- 
nal spheres.  Racine's  more  psychological  drama 
guarcls  at  least  externally  against  anything  like 
realism,  and  here  it  is  that  such  a  penetration  as 
Brunetiere's  renders  service  to  the  audience  by  lift- 
ing the  veil  of  formula  and  revealing  the  touches 
of  nature  beneath,  by  bringing  before  it  the  pro- 
foundly modern  note  of  these  psychological  plays. 
Brunetiere  traces  all  the  stages  through  which 
French  tragedy  is  led,  from  the  ^schylean  region 
of  the  abstract  passions  in  Theophilus,  Hardy  and 
Rotron  to  Corneille,  and  thence  to  Racine,  with 
their  counterpart  in  the  evolution  of  comedy.  He 
shows  how  the  satyr  of  the  fifteenth  century  formed 
with  Moliere,  in  the  "  Ecole  des  Femmes "  and 
"  Tartufe,"  the  basis  of  a  new  comedy  of  observa- 


FERDINAND  BRUNETIMe  173 

tiou,  falling  first  upon  Marivaux  to  end  the  old 
method,  and  beginning  the  new  with  Beaumar- 
chais ;  how  with  Beamnarchais  and  the  flagella- 
tions of  the  "  Mariage  de  Figaro,"  comedy  makes 
a  fresh  start  upon  lines  which  lead  Alexandre 
Dumas  to  convert  the  stage  into  a  pulpit.  These 
are  the  transformations,  the  avatars^  the  evolutions 
through  which  Brunetiere  conducts  his  audience 
along  the  most  escarped  meanderings  of  his  theat- 
rical conferences  with  an  incomparable  dexterity. 
These  lectures  appeared  in  the  "  Revue  Bleue  "  the 
day  after  their  delivery.  The  demand  for  them 
was  incredible,  especially  by  those  who  had  heard 
them,  no  orator  having  ever  put  more  of  himself 
into  all  he  does  than  Brunetiere,  so  that,  when 
reading  him,  you  see  him  again  as  you  heard  him, 
and  his  very  gestures  seem  to  accentuate  the  writ- 
ten thought. 

This  series  of  lectures  at  the  Odeon,  in  1891  and 
1892,  was  a  triumph ;  still  they  did  not  suffice  the 
lecturer,  since  he  had  not  fully  accomplished  his 
work,  the  lectures  being  paid  and  a  theatre  being 
the  place  of  meeting.  However  successful  this 
first  campaign  was,  Brunetiere  had  not  yet  founded 
the  "  free  and  gratuitous  lesson."  This  he  accom- 
plished only  in  1893,  when  the  Sorbonne  yielded, 
and  engaged  him  to  speak  in  its  great  amphi- 
theatre on  the  "  Evolution  of  Lyric  Poetry  in  the 
Nineteenth  Century."  This  was  a  subject  suitable 
to  expose  his  strong  likes  and  dislikes,  a  subject 
affording  the  author  of  that  excellent  article  on 
the  "  Question  of  Latin  "  ^  a  sufficient  occasion 
1  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  1885. 


174  FERDINAND  BRUNETI^RE 

to  uphold  classicism  at  the  expense  of  the  follies 
of  exaggerated  romanticism. 

The  basis  of  this  new  series  was  that  "  art  is 
necessarily  the  reproduction  of  life."  This  is  one 
of  the  points  on  which  art  differs  from  science, 
based  rather  on  speculation  than  on  observation. 
However,  art  is  not  a  copy,  but  an  adaptation  of 
the  facts  of  life.  In  fiction  and  in  poetry  this 
adaptation  must  be  sustained  by  the  noblest  inspi- 
ration, if  it  is  to  be  preserved  above  the  servile 
level  of  photography.  Whence,  according  to 
Brunetiere,  the  unreality  of  unmixed  Naturalism. 
The  fact  of  its  being  natural  does  not  constitute 
its  truthfulness,  for  the  natural  is  true  only  when 
it  is  wedded  to  the  ideal ;  the  human  soul  being 
never  quite  exempt  from  the  upper  influence  even 
in  its  most  complete  yielding  to  the  lower  instincts, 
and  some  divine  ray  mingling  at  times  with  the 
basest  manifestations.  In  Brunetiere's  eye,  Natu- 
ralism and  individualism  are  one  and  the  same 
thing ;  and  the  father  of  "  individualism  "  in  litera- 
ture, in  his  opinion,  is  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau. 
According  to  this  view  Saint-Preux  is  the  origin 
of  Manfred,  Lara,  Rene,  Hernani,  Ruy  Bias,  and 
their  like,  —  in  a  word,  of  all  those  beings  of  the 
lowest  rank  in  this  society  of  recriminators,  who 
are  dominated  by  the  "Prometheus"  of  ^schylus; 
creatures  of  suffering  and  revolt,  who  believe  them- 
selves to  be  heroes  because  they  suffer,  instead  of 
concluding,  with  Tasso,  that  "  the  most  manly  man 
is  he  who  suffers  most." 

Placed  by  his  study  of  the  lyrics  in  an  atmo- 
sphere  where   sensibility   triumphs   over    reason, 


FERDINAND  BRUNETlilRE  175 

Brunetiere  could  not  escape  its  influence.  He  pro- 
nounces in  favor  of  sensibility  by  saying :  "  Sen- 
sibility, after  all,  is,  of  all  faculties,  that  which 
makes  us  ourselves.  It  distinguishes  us  above  all 
others ;  it  is  the  very  essence  of  our  individuality." 
One  of  Kousseau's  principal  virtues  for  Brunetiere 
is  precisely  that  of  having  turned  public  interest 
back  to  the  inward  life,  at  a  time  when  Montes- 
quieu and  Voltaire  had  monopolized  literature  for 
the  sole  profit  of  history,  politics,  and  sociology. 
"  False  human  respect  and  false  modesty,"  says 
our  critic,  "  not  only  prevented  writers  from  paint- 
ing, but  men  from  recognizing  in  themselves,  these 
sentiments."  In  teaching  man  again  what  he  no 
longer  knew,  that  social  and  political  questions  are 
not  the  only  ones,  nor  yet  the  most  urgent ;  in 
restoring  to  us  this  possibility  of  the  inner  life,  of 
which  the  worldly  and  busy  existence  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century  was  the  negation,  "  The  Profession 
of  Faith  of  the  Vicar  of  Savoy  "  sowed  the  seeds 
of  religion  and  poetry  which  Chateaubriand  reaped 
afterwards  in  his  "  Genie  du  Christianisme."  Ber- 
nardin  de  Saint-Pierre,  also  one  of  the  fathers  of 
lyrism  and  romanticism,  interests  Brunetiere  less, 
since  he  is  but  a  "  landscape-painter,"  and  fails  to 
link  the  feelings  of  his  characters  with  exterior 
beauties,  but  allows  the  latter  to  usurp  the  interest 
that  should  belong  to  the  former,  and  makes  the 
personage  the  accessory,  instead  of  the  landscape. 

The  following,  according  to  Brunetiere,  is  the 
genealogical  order  of  the  literary  filiation  of  lyrism 
and  romanticism :  Chateaubriand  proceeds  from 
Rousseau,  only  modified  by  the  note  of  Christian- 


176  FERDINAND  BRUNETI^RE 

ity.  In  his  turn,  Lamartine  takes  his  Inspiration 
from  Chateaubriand,  and  in  Hugo  more  than  once 
the  manner,  the  form,  —  for  example,  that  of 
enumeration,  which  recalls  the  enumerations  of 
the  "  Martyrs,"  and  certain  passages  of  the  "  Le- 
gends des  Siecles  "  —  evoke  vivid  gleams  of  the 
life  of  Eudore  and  of  Cymodocee.  All  —  Chateau- 
briand, as  well  as  Rousseau  and  Lamartine  —  are 
"  individualists."  All  hymn  their  moi  through 
the  intermediary  of  their  characters.  The  transi- 
tion toward  the  impersonal,  toward  the  abstract, 
in  modern  poetry,  is  brought  about  by  Alfred  de 
Vigny,  who  leads,  by  this  new  poetic  departure,  to 
Leconte  de  Lisle  and  Sully  Prudhomrae,  the  very 
essence  of  impersonality.  Brunetiere's  criticism 
of  Alfred  de  Vigny  is  too  characteristic  to  be 
omitted  here,  especially  because  of  the  critic's 
congratulation  to  the  poet  on  his  pessimistic  humor. 
"  If  life  is  evil,"  cries  Brunetiere,  "  it  is  all  the 
better.  Men  approach  and  gather  closer  together 
in  the  interests  of  mutuality.  They  call  to  their 
assistance  religion,  art,  science,  good  deeds,  and 
the  private  misery  of  each  one  becomes  responsible 
for  the  effort  of  all  toward  freedom  and  the  lessen- 
ing of  the  cruelty  of  life  on  earth.  If  life  is  good, 
on  the  contrary,  there  is  no  need  of  any  effort  to 
improve  it,  and  this  means  the  fatal  fall  into 
elementary  and  inferior  existence."  But  it  is  not 
only  the  pessimistic  mood  that  pleases  Brunetiere 
in  Alfred  de  Vigny.  The  refinement  of  feeling, 
with  which  he  is  in  sympathy,  touches  him  to  the 
core.  He  quotes  admiringly  the  poet's  lines  :  "  Je 
me  tourmente  des  jours  et  des  nuits  entieres  par 


FERDINAND  BRUNETlkRE  111 

la  souffrance  cl'autrui.  Un  instinct  involontaire 
me  force  meme  a  me  laisser  connaitre.  J'ai 
I'entliusiasme  de  la  pitie,  c'est  la  passion  de  la 
bonte  que  je  sens  dans  mon  coBur."  (Day  and 
niglit  I  am  tormented  by  tlie  sufferings  of  otliers. 
An  involuntary  instinct  forces  me  even  to  let  my- 
self be  known.  I  have  the  enthusiasm  of  pity, 
and  it  is  the  passion  of  kindness  that  I  feel  in  my 
heart.) 

In  the  eyes  of  Brunetiere,  one  of  de  Vigny's 
greatest  merits  is  the  fact  that  he  does  not  discuss 
himseK  in  his  writings,  and  this  distinction  he  also 
allows  Theophile  Gautier,  with  the  addition  of 
color  and  warmth  of  imagination,  which  are  his 
particular  qualities. 

Always  following  this  order  of  moral  ideas  (for 
I  insist  upon  this,  which  the  reader  must  see,  that 
the  study  of  Brunetiere  is  more  that  of  souls  than 
that  of  forms  or  schools ;  or  rather,  that  of  schools 
evolving  themselves  from  moral  tendencies)  we 
find  Leconte  de  Lisle  one  of  Brunetiere's  favorite 
masters  of  modern  lyrism.  Of  him  he  says  :  "  He 
has  never  indulged  in  an  unworthy  trading  upon 
his  own  afflictions  ;  he  has  never  invited  the  public 
to  examine  his  wounds ;  he  has  never  solicited 
commonplace  commiseration  through  means  of  his 
writings ;  he  has  never  prostituted  his  heart." 
There  is  nothing  to  wonder  at  if,  following  the 
logic  of  tendencies,  the  reader  has  recognized  from 
the  opening  lines  of  this  study  that  Brimetiere 
displays  for  the  symbolists  a  sympathy  as  lively  as 
that  which  the  lyric  and  romantic  writers  inspire 
in  him.     His  partiality  for  the  symbolists  is  the 


178  FERDINAND  BRUNETI^RE 

sufficiently  indicated  counteraction  of  his  aversion 
for  the  Naturalist.  "  Happily,  fifteen  years  after 
his  death,  at  the  moment  when  Baudelaire  became 
one  of  the  educators  of  youth,  two  other  influences, 
which  at  first  seemed  coadjutors  of  his,  interfered, 
and  prevented  him  from  working  all  the  ill  he 
might  have  done.  I  refer  to  the  influence  of  the 
English  Pre-Raphaelites  and  of  the  Russian  novel- 
ists." Lyric  poetry,  according  to  Brunetiere,  is 
that  which  waves  to  the  surface  the  emotions  of 
the  inner  life  and  of  circumstances.  Its  seat  is  in 
the  private  feelings  of  the  soul,  as  in  Lamartine's 
Jocelyn,  and  Alfred  de  Vigny's  Eloa. 

But  while  Brunetiere  recognizes  only  the  expres- 
sion of  the  soul's  best  forces  in  lyrism,  —  those 
forces  gathered  from  suffering  and  painful  experi- 
ence, —  so  in  romanticism  he  recognizes  above  all 
the  manifestation  of  force  in  revolt,  of  the  soul's 
rebellion.  "  Romanticism  is  the  expression  of  the 
writer's  own  changes  of  soul,  of  his  soul's  tumult, 
of  its  storms,  but  not  of  its  succeeding  calm. 
Whence  the  lyrism  of  Lamartine  and  the  roman- 
ticism of  Hugo.  The  first  chanting  the  triumph, 
of  the  victorious  soul,  the  subdued  feelings  of 
Jocelyn.  Hugo,  on  the  contrary,  thundering, 
through  Ruy  Bias  and  Hernani,  all  the  revolt  of 
life.  Lyrism,  romanticism,  symbolism !  After 
the  inner  battles,  after  excelsior,  the  symbol !  It 
is  the  ascending  march  steadfastly  traced.  The 
romantic  school,"  continues  Brunetiere,  "  is  the 
school  of  sensation.  We  desire,  and  we  rhyme 
our  desire :  it  is  a  madrigal.  We  regret,  and  we 
rhyme  our  regret :  it  is  an  elegy."     In  lyrism  it  is 


FERDINAND  BRUNETI^RE  179 

the  panting  soul  aflame  with  life  that  "  describes  " 
itself.  On  the  contrary,  symbolism  is  the  reign  of 
the  abstract.  It  is  the  image  of  man's  ultimate 
destiny,  inspired  by  an  actual  picture :  — 

"  Tu  les  f eras  pleurer,  enfant  belle  et  ch^rie, 
Tons  ces  eufants,  hommes  futurs." 

This  is  the  symbolist  suggestion  upon  sight  of  a 
child  at  play  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries.  It 
completely  distinguishes  symbolism  from  allegory, 
for  symbolism  is  the  figure  of  a  moral  condition, 
abstract  and  future,  whereas  allegory  is  the  figure 
of  facts  existing  or  already  past.  In  Parsifal  and 
the  Wagnerian  legend  we  are  in  full  symbolism  ; 
in  Tasso  and  Ariosto  in  full  allegory.  From  one 
end  to  the  other  of  these  pages  examples  are  not 
lacking  to  prove  what  I  suggest  in  my  sketch  of 
the  moral  character  of  Brunetiere's  critique,  a 
critique  so  imperturbably  drawn  to  the  intimate 
tendencies  of  the  work  he  judges.  Still  the  liter- 
ary apostolate  of  Brunetiere  can  never  be  so  direct, 
so  immediate  with  youth  as  that  of  Vogiie,  since 
his  moralizing  pursuit  of  the  elevation  of  the  mind 
through  literature  is  but  a  feature  of  his  mission 
as  critic,  criticism  being  the  protest  of  Brunetiere's 
lofty  developments ;  while  Vogiie  and  Desjardins 
only  sought  to  exalt  the  inner  consciousness  of 
those  they  addressed,  and  for  whose  sake  they 
labored. 

Having  shown  himself  somewhat  of  a  controver- 
sialist in  his  discourses  on  Bossuet,  Brunetiere, 
who  had  won  the  nickname  of  "  the  Young  Inqui- 
sitor "  by  his  rigorous  defense  of  dogmas,  set  him- 
self the  task  of  fighting  science  in  the  name  of 


180  FERDINAND  BRUNETIMe 

faith  in  an  article  of  January  1,  1895.  This  was 
an  event.  Polemics  rained.  Professor  Charles 
Eichet,  in  the  "  Revue  Scientifique,"  wrote  in  a 
strain  of  direct  fencing ;  other  answers  were  wordy 
and  insignificant.  But  Brunetiere's  work  had 
been  the  big  gun ;  it  roused  every  one,  though  it 
concluded  nothing,  because  in  such  questions  deci- 
sion must  always  be  a  matter  of  individual  ultima- 
tum. But  to  rouse  minds  to  dispute  and  argue 
upon  questions  of  belief,  to  call  forth  discussions 
among  men  of  learning  upon  problems  that  thirty 
years  ago  were  regarded  as  beneath  the  considera- 
tion of  the  superior  mind,  was  a  result !  This  arti- 
cle of  January  was  followed  by  another  in  May  on 
"  La  Morale  evolutive."  These  two  philosophic 
manifestoes  of  Brunetiere  opened  the  door  to  the 
literary  lame  and  halt  to  prove  by  attacking  the 
author  that  he  had  not  yet  taken  his  place  beside 
those  whom  none  dare  discuss  more.  It  was  a 
rare  occasion  for  all  those  who  had  failed  in  the 
higher  literature  to  fling  sprays  of  bile  in  the  face 
of  the  director  of  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes," 
of  the  Academician,  of  the  triumphant  lecturer  of 
the  Sorbonne. 

Had  this  conqueror,  on  the  other  hand,  striven 
to  win  pardon  for  his  good  fortune  by  that  precise 
amount  of  suavity  and  graciousness  with  which  the 
cautious  politician  covers  his  success  ?  Had  he 
endeavored  to  win  over  those  he  defeated  ?  Did 
he  foresee  calumny  beneath  each  approval,  menace 
under  each  caress  ?  The  penetration  which  we 
may  believe  kept  him  alive  to  every  vengeful  back- 
stroke  that    the   mediocre  and    envious   hold   in 


FERDINAND  BRUNETIMe  181 

reserve  for  those  who  outrun  them,  had  not  dictated 
to  him  the  false  humility  which  the  clever  man 
offers  in  atonement  to  his  jealous  enemies. 

I  have  already  said  that  Brunetiere  is  a  man  of 
courage,  one  of  the  strong  and  disdainful.  Do 
not,  however,  class  him  with  the  unfeeling,  for  this 
he  is  not,  by  any  means.^  "We  must  not  forget 
that  he  won  where  so  many  perish,  —  won  without 
sycophancy,  without  baseness,  by  emphasizing  his 
contempt  and  proclaiming  his  admiration.  The 
envious  who  attack  him  have  at  least  this  point  in 
favor  of  their  shabby  feeling,  that  jealousy  may 
imply,  in  those  who  have  paid  for  success  by  the 
sacrifice  of  dignity,  a  private  regret  for  the  loss  in 
the  struggle  of  that  which  the  object  of  their  envy 
has  been  able  to  preserve. 

However,  this  very  dignity,  which  has  never  had 
to  pay  so  much  as  a  stumble  in  a  career  so  brilliant 
and  rapid,  ran  fewer  risks  with  Brunetiere  than 
with  any  other,  because  his  aggressive  temper  car- 
ries him  so  forcibly  to  attack  that  he  has  less  to 
fear  than  any  one  else  from  temptation  to  flexi- 
bility. This  pugnacious  mood  is  his  standard, 
which  he  flings  into  the  fight  with  the  air  of  Henri 
IV.  at  Arques. 

He  casts  his  paradoxes  like  flaming  torches  at 
his  audience,  then  jumps  into  the  arena,  gathers 
them  in  handfuls,  throws  them  back  again,  one  by 
one,  burning,  vivid,  flaming,  in  the  teeth  of  the 

^  If  I  were  not  afraid  of  being  accused  of  panegyric  I 
could  accumulate  proofs  of  Bruneti^re's  faculty  for  pity,  and 
of  generous  replies  received  by  more  than  one  of  his  detrac- 
tors. 


182  FERDINAND  BRUNETI^RE 

shaken  and  electrified  audience.  It  is  the  fire  of 
Brunetiere's  own  individuality  that  gives  his  elo- 
quence its  particular  convincing  character. 

This  vivid  way  of  speaking  of  ideas  is  the  cause 
of  the  rumors  that  Brunetiere's  real  tribune  is 
the  parliamentary  one.  We  need  not  insist  on 
this  last  supposition.  Brunetiere  is  young,  and 
chance  is  his  friend  ;  and  then  Providence,  in  whose 
favor,  apropos  of  Bossuet,  he  has  said  so  many 
fine  things,  will  perhaps  not  prove  ungrateful.  But 
so  far  nothing  whatever  justifies  the  notion  that 
Brunetiere  has  the  smallest  political  ambition.  It 
is  not  improbable  that  the  eminent  Academician 
may  entertain  on  these  questions  the  conclusions 
of  Frederick  Lemaitre  on  Tartufe's  role.  One  of 
the  most  brilliant  contributors  of  the  "  Revue  des 
Deux  Mondes  "  tells  the  story  that,  one  day  meet- 
ing Frederick,  he  asked  him  if  he  had  never 
thought  of  playing  Tartufe. 

"  Mon  Dieu,  yes,"  replied  the  artist.  "  But  I 
have  made  up  my  mind.     I  won't  play  it." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  I  prefer  that  minds  like  yours  should 
continue  to  think,  '  What  an  admirable  Tartufe 
Frederick  would  have  made  had  he  wished  ! '  " 

Perhaps  Brunetiere  may  prefer  that  we  should 
continue  to  say,  "  What  an  admirable  deputy  he 
might  have  made  had  he  but  wished  it !  " 


JULES  LEMAItRE 


On  the  17th  of  February,  1896,  Monsieur  Gre- 
ard,  Vice-recteur  of  the  University  of  France,  re- 
ceived Jules  Lemaitre  at  the  French  Academy  — 
the  schoolmaster-general  of  his  country  receiving 
the  most  sparkling  of  reviewers,  the  bold  Lundiste  ^ 
who  pulls  Ninus'  beard  ! 

The  Rector  of  the  University  of  France  and  the 
critic  of  the  "  Debats  "  are  not  so  far  apart,  how- 
ever, as  they  may  seem  at  first.  The  gap  between 
them  is  filled  by  two  most  touching  figures,  —  Be- 
renice and  Heloi'se.  A  spirit  of  courtesy  moved 
each  of  the  two  men  to  show  his  appreciation  of 
what  the  other  admires,  leading  them  on  this  occa- 
sion to  mutual  concessions :  Lemaitre  launched 
forth  into  classical  dissertations  about  Duruy  ; 
Greard  slipped  into  the  tone  of  the  dashing  chroni- 
queui\  applying  the  term  hoite  (den)  to  the  school 
in  which  Lemaitre  was  brought  up,  and  alluding 
to  the  tricks  of  the  stage  asjicelles  (wires)  !  The 
grace  of  these  mutual  salaams  was  welcome  to  the 
select  assembly. 

Lemaitre  is  a  li\dng  proof  of  Darwin's  demon- 

^  "  Lundiste,"  or  Mondayist,  is  the  name  given  to  French 
weekly  critics  whose  articles  generally  appear  in  the  Monday 
papers. 


184  JULES  LEMAITRE 

stration  that  the  creation  of  an  organ  springs  from 
the  want  of  it.  A  Lundiste  is  a  necessity  in  Paris, 
and  Lemaitre  is  a  Parisian,  although  a  native  of 
Beaugency.  Lemaitre  is  a  Parisian  like  Renan, 
who  was  a  Breton,  and  like  Weiss,  who  was  an 
Alsatian.  They  all  claim  one  fatherland,  the 
"Journal  des  Debats,"  the  right-honored  country 
of  Saint-Marc  Girardin  and  Sainte-Beuve !  Only 
Saint-Marc  Girardin  belonged  to  the  north  of  the 
journal,  whereas  Lemaitre  is  a  meridional  of  the 
same.  Thus  it  is  that  Lemaitre  executes  the  wild- 
est fantasias  on  tragic  themes,  from  ^schylus  to 
Bornier  and  from  Sophocles  to  Parodi,  without 
ever  losing  the  measure,  and  with  the  spirit  and 
skill  of  a  Mozart  playing  variations  on  his  "  Don 
Giovanni."  How  can  one  explain  to  a  foreign 
public  the  ever-renewed  pleasure  French  society 
feels  in  being  told  that  the  "  Cid  "  is  a  noble  work, 
"  Phedre "  a  play  of  passion,  and  "  Berenice  "  a 
work  of  sentiment,  and  in  hearing  this  repeated  for 
a  whole  century,  too,  alternately  by  Sainte-Beuve, 
by  Jules  Janin,  by  Weiss,  and  by  Lemaitre  ? 
How  can  we  explain  the  delicious  titillation  pro- 
duced in  the  mind  of  the  Parisian  on  reading 
the  impressions  of  his  favorite  critic  upon  a  new 
work?  How  describe  the  delight  of  a  lettered 
Parisienne  giving  out  on  her  reception  days  little 
slices  of  her  favorite  Mondayist?  These  things 
are  more  difficult  to  understand  than  the  quarrel 
about  the  Lavestitures  or  the  Spanish  Marriages  ! 
Why  do  Parisians  prefer  listening  to  what  they 
know,  to  being  taught  what  they  ignore?  Why 
are  Lemaitre's  articles  never  more  successful  than 


JULES  LEMAITRE  185 

when  they  treat  of  the  "Misanthrope"  or  of 
"  Andromaque  "  ?  Whether  it  be  vanity  on  the 
reader's  part  to  prefer  knowing  beforehand  what 
the  author  is  treating  of,  or  whether  he  would 
rather  repeat  the  ideas  of  others  when  these  ideas 
spring  from  the  same  source  as  his  own,  I  will  not 
attempt  to  decide.  I  simply  establish  the  fact, 
that  Lemaitre  is  the  chosen  one,  the  favorite,  the 
deity  of  all  the  reading  society  of  Paris,  and  that 
he  owes  his  popularity  in  great  measure  to  his 
consummate  art,  thanks  to  which  he  never  lav- 
ishes greater  learning  than  when  appearing  most 
simple. 

His  way  of  writing  being  entirely  the  result  of 
his  own  individuality,  Lemaitre's  talent  is  many- 
sided,  bold,  ironical,  poetical,  at  times  almost  reli- 
gious, and  always  proud  and  lofty.  As  Monsieur 
Greard  said  at  his  reception  :  "  Carefully  attentive 
to  the  duties  of  life,  shunning  nothing  which  might 
contribute  to  enlighten  it,  you  rally  round  your 
undefined  belief,  to  use  the  expression  you  your- 
self invented  for  Lamartine,  the  noblest  dreams 
that  suffering  and  thinking  humanity,  whether 
pagan  or  Christian,  has  been  able  to  conceive. 
Marcus  Aurelius  and  the  'Imitation'  stand  side 
by  side  in  your  private  library  on  the  shelf  reserved 
for  those  you  call  the  sages  and  the  comforters, 
your  Lares.  This  fusion  of  the  two  great  souls 
of  the  world,  is  it  not  what  you  represent  in  the 
person  of  Serenus,  the  unbelieving  martyr,  whose 
pagan  relics  work  miracles  ?  By  the  side  of  the 
exaltations  of  Faith  and  above  the  weakness  of 
Eeason,  you  place  the  universal  and  eternal  reli- 


186  JULES  LEMAITRE 

gion  of  the  propositions  you  spoke  of  just  now. 
You  would  scruple  to  sound  their  metaphysics  too 
deeply,  but  you  love  to  comment  upon  their  moral, 
to  bring  it  down  to  the  rules  of  existence.  You 
surround  and  imbue  your  philosophy  with  good- 
ness. If  it  is  sad  to  know,  because  knowledge  only 
serves  to  remove  a  little  further  off  the  boundary 
of  what  we  can  never  know,  one  thing  at  least  does 
not  deceive  us.  That  is  the  gift  of  sympathy  and 
pity.  Tolstoi  had  not  yet  preached  his  gospel  in 
the  West,  and  you  had  scarcely  risen  to  the  obser- 
vation of  the  world  when  you  wrote  those  touching 
lines :  — 

*  Heureux  qui  sur  le  mal  se  penche,  et  souffre,  et  pleure ! 
Car  la  compassion  refleurit  en  vertus, 
Et  sur  rhumanit^,  pour  la  rendre  meilleure, 

Nos  pleurs  n'ont  qu'^  tomber,  n'^tant  jamais  perdus.' 

"  Maturity  of  thought  has  not  yet  made  you  re- 
ject those  accents  of  a  mind  early  moved  by  the 
sight  of  human  misery.  Among  the  many  pages 
on  which  you  show  what  you  feel,  I  should  like  to 
quote  the  speech  you  made  a  year  ago  to  the  youth 
of  the  schools  !  " 

We  find  the  noble  sentiments  of  Lemaitre  thus 
alluded  to  by  M.  Greard  in  his  reception  speech 
to  the  new  member,  when,  mentioning  the  charm- 
ing poet,  Auguste  Dorchain,  speaking  of  a  star, 
Lemaitre  says:  "Once  it  gave  birth  to  love,  to 
thought,  to  life,  then  its  songs  were  hushed  ;  its 
light  gTcw  dim  and  died.  Having  wasted  its 
strength  in  idle  pleasure,  it  wanders  silent  and 
dark  through  space." 

Also  about  Sully  Prudhomme  he  follows  in  the 


JULES  LEMAITRE  187 

same  vein.  " 
of  pride  and  ambition  whicli  modern  souls  contain, 
form  the  precious  elixir  which  Sully  Prudhomme 
enshrines  in  vases  of  pure  gold."  No  less  exquisite 
is  his  allusion  to  Paul  Desjardins.  "  There  is  a 
deep  and  touching  good  nature  in  Paul  Desjardins,^ 
and  a  great  thirst  after  charity  and  j^ureness." 
As  to  the  persistent  sarcasm  which  Lemaitre  is 
accused  of,  and  his  total  incapacity  to  become  im- 
aginative, we  may  remind  the  reader  that  his  first 
passion  was  poetry,  and  that  he  has  shown  us  how 
perfectly  able  he  is  to  escape  from  the  realities 
of  life  in  his  essay  on  hypnotism.  "  We  live  in 
mystery,"  he  writes ;  "  we  find  everywhere  that 
mystery  of  the  senses  —  suggestion.  Poetry  is  but 
suggestion  ;  so  are  eloquence  and  authority  and 
love,  by  which  one  individual  being  is  completely 
subjugated  and  absorbed  in  another  being."  Le- 
maitre, however,  descends  from  Parnassus  to  attack 
the  tiresome  pedants  who  reproach  Renan  for  his 
gayety.  "  Is  he  such  a  great  culprit  ?  You  are 
very  innocent !  You  might  as  well  say,  '  This  man 
is  human  and  dares  to  be  gay.'  Renan  is  gay  be- 
cause he  keeps  up  his  gayety  by  watching  men  and 
things  as  they  pass  before  his  eyes." 

Lemaitre  is  himself  the  Renan  of  reviewers,  very 
learned  (we  need  only  read  his  works  to  perceive 
this)  ;  he  draws  from  the  absurdities  of  men  and 
fate  that  delicate  irony,  too,  in  which  he  is  unri- 

1  Paul  Desjardins  founded  some  years  ago  a  society,  the 
aunals  of  which  are  contained  in  a  Bulletin  pour  V Action 
morale.  This  moral  activity,  though  rather  vague  in  theory, 
proved  useful  in  practice  and  did  a  great  deal  of  good. 


188  JULES  LEMAITRE 

valed ;  his  knowledge  of  people  and  of  life  gives 
him  pity  and  emotion,  when  moved  by  true  pathos. 
Lemaitre  was  born  April  27,  1853.  After  hav- 
ing followed  the  career  of  a  professor  at  Havre,  at 
Algiers,  and  at  Tours,  he  began  in  1884  to  write 
for  the  "  Revue  Bleue,"  where  he  won  a  marked 
success.  He  joined  the  staff  of  the  "  Journal  des 
Debats  "  in  1888.  His  fame  as  a  reviewer  rose 
long  before  his  first  victories  as  a  playwright.  An 
amusing  peculiarity  about  this  critic  is,  that  he 
always  reviews  his  own  pieces  just  as  he  would  the 
plays  of  any  other  author. 


I  have  described  the  "  Journal  des  Debats  "  as 
a  fatherland  for  reviewers,  because  that  newspaper 
has  really  been  the  conservatorium  of  French  criti- 
cal art.  This  art  is  so  inherent  in  our  race  that, 
from  Eabelais  to  Weiss,  including  Montaigne  and 
Diderot,  French  wits  have  never  ceased  to  com- 
ment, discuss,  develop,  and  correct,  in  a  word,  to 
do  the  work  of  the  critic  as  it  were  spontaneously. 
The  chit-chat  of  our  literary  salons,  indeed,  is  but  a 
succession  of  fugues  and  flourishes  executed  upon 
a  given  theme  of  art  or  literature  by  the  visitors,  a 
sort  of  "  Monday  "  paper  in  dialogue  to  which  every 
one  contributes  his  note  of  admiration  or  candid 
calculated  admiration. 

Acquired  cleverness  is  not  everything.  It  is  the 
natural  gift  of  writing  which  gives  the  stamp,  as 
well  as  the  characteristic  qualities.  A  bold  as  well 
as  skillful  command  of  language  goes  far  towards 
forming  a  Jules  Lemaitre ;  of  that  we  may  be  con- 


JULES  LEMAITRE  189 

vinced  when  we  find  him  using  the  current  slang 
expressions  of  to?nbeurs  (wrestlers),  arrivistes 
(men  who  succeed  ^je^ya-s  ov  per  nefas),  and  simi- 
lar words  in  speaking  of  the  long-robed,  tunic- 
draped  heroes  of  Corneille  and  Racine.  Lemaitre 
dashes  in  these  bits  of  color ;  they  cling  to  the  pic- 
ture and  catch  the  eye  for  the  effect.  It  is  consum- 
mate skill.  He  sometimes  changes  his  tone,  too, 
without  ever  losing  his  attractive  personality.  In 
the  volume  before  me,  he  speaks  at  the  same  time 
of  "  Les  Horaces  "  and  "  Le  Chat  noir,"  of  Leconte 
de  Lisle  and  the  "Cirque  d'Ete,"  —  in  each  of 
these  different  atmospheres  remaining  himself,  as- 
suming neither  the  disguise  of  a  pedant  nor  that 
of  a  "  decadent,"  playing  nowhere  the  unworthy 
part  of  an  old-school  pedant  with  the  young,  or  a 
young-school  pedant  with  the  classics. 

His  theatrical  essays  are  divisible  into  four 
parts  :  the  "  ancients,"  the  French  classic  tragedy, 
the  comedy,  and  lastly,  "foreign  drama,"  that  is, 
Shakespeare,  Ibsen,  and  Bjornson.  The  opinion 
of  a  Frenchman,  a  Parisian  like  Jules  Lemaitre, 
on  Shakespeare's  plays,  on  "  Hamlet,"  "  Macbeth," 
and  the  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  cannot  fail 
to  open  new  vistas  to  English  eyes.  Lemaitre 
very  sincerely  calls  Shakespeare  the  "sovereign 
poet;"  which  does  not  prevent  his  exclaiming, 
however,  no  less  sincerely,  in  the  face  of  some  ob- 
scure passage  :  "  Voltaire  was  not  far  wi'ong  when 
he  called  him  a  drunken  savage."  Lemaitre  is 
not  one  to  be  duped  in  any  way.  Hence  his  admi- 
ration for  Euripides,  which  leads  him  to  speak 
slightingly  of  Racine  himself.      "  When  we  con- 


190  JULES  LEMAITRE 

sider  that  Racine  thought  he  was  producing  works 
at  least  resembling  the  tragedies  of  Euripides  (see 
the  Serie  d'Euripide),  we  are  struck  by  the  strange 
influence  that  education  and  tradition  bring  to 
bear  upon  our  way  of  thought,  and  we  feel  how 
hard  it  is  to  discern  in  the  works  of  the  past  and, 
I  believe,  in  those  of  the  present,  what  is  really 
there.  You  would  not  speak  like  Admetus  or 
Pheres  in  '  Alcestis,'  though  you  would,  I  think, 
feel  as  they  do. 

"  Euripides  seizes  and  brings  to  light  those 
secret  feelings,  as  yet  unstrung  chords  of  instinct, 
which  move  in  the  inner  depths  of  our  being,  which 
we  never  speak  of,  and  even  scarcely  own  to  our- 
selves. And  I  fancy  he  finds  in  this  betrayal  of 
our  hearts  a  kind  of  satirical  pleasure,  not  always 
harsh,  but  rather  tempered  by  the  thought  that  we 
must  take  life  as  it  is  with  its  unavoidable  instinct 
of  self-preservation  and  selfishness." 

Lemaitre  considers  Greek  drama  especially  nat- 
uralistic and  simple.  Not  content  with  blaming 
Racine  he  attacks  Moliere.  While  recognizing 
Terence's  "  Phormio  "  in  the  "  Fourberies  de 
Scapin,"  he  says :  "  Terence  contrived,  I  know 
not  how,  to  express  the  most  delicate  sentiments, 
and  to  utter  the  most  touching  words  of  love  ; 
whereas  Moliere,  in  taking  his  '  Fourberies  de 
Scapin '  from  '  Phormio,'  does  not  attain  that 
poetic  elevation  by  which  Terence  made  the  spec- 
tator forget  the  huge  brazen  mouth,  and  the  un- 
movable  mask  worn  by  actors  among  the  ancients." 
In  the  "  Fourberies  de  Scapin,"  Moliere  not  only 
copied  most  of  the  incidents  from  Terence,  but  the 


JULES  LEMAITRE  191 

scene  of  the  sack  from  Tabarin,  and  the  opening 
dialogue  from  Rotrou.  What  then  ?  "  Moliere 
lent  these  borrowed  scenes  the  light  of  his  own 
genius,  the  superiority  of  his  simple,  lively,  lifelike 
language,  and  we  love  Scapin  in  spite  of  all  be- 
cause he  is  the  first,  the  most  important  of  comic 
personages,  produced  by  popular  imagination  at 
the  very  origin  of  comedy,  and  because  he  repre- 
sents in  the  eyes  of  common  people  what  they 
always  love  to  see,  that  is^  the  triumph  of  the 
weak  over  the  strong." 

Jules  Lemaitre's  wit  is  in  very  special  accord 
with  his  style.  He  is  as  bold  and  fearless  as  a 
merry  street  Arab ;  nothing  stops  him,  he  bows  to 
no  idols.  If  Voltaire  falls  under  his  scourge,  so 
much  the  worse  for  Voltaire.  "  What  does  Vol- 
taire do  but  make  the  characters  of  the  classic 
drama  go  through  the  commonest  stage  tricks  ? 
Zaire  and  Lusignan,  Merope  and  ^Egisthus,  Arsace 
and  Semiramis  figure,  reduced  and  diminished,  in 
performances  where  the  whole  plot  consists  in  the 
finding  and  recognizing  of  lost  relationships,  just 
like  one  of  Ducange's  melodramas.  It  is  pitiable 
to  see  what  a  mess  he  makes  of  ^schylus,  of 
Sophocles,  and  of  Shakespeare,  while  pretending 
to  '  strengthen'  them  ;  for  instance,  he  makes 
Shakespeare's  Julius  Caesar  the  father  of  Brutus. 
It  is  no  longer  a  legend,  but  a  fact ;  not  a  mere 
on  dit.)  but  a  proved  thing  [tin  fait  documente]. 
He  makes  a  mess  of  the  entire  drama.  Suppose 
Hamlet  ignorant  of  his  birth ;  suppose  Gertrude, 
instead  of  marrying  her  accomplice,  wanted  to 
marry  Hamlet,  as  Jocasta  marries  CEdipus  ;  make 


192  JULES  LEMAITRE 

the  Gliost  appear  to  prevent  the  incest ;  take  away 
from  the  part  of  Hamlet  his  sufferings,  his  internal 
struggles,  his  pretense  of  madness,  everything,  in 
a  word,  that  makes  the  beauty  of  the  part,  and 
then  put  mysteries  and  silly  complications  in  their 
place,  and  there  you  have  '  Semiramis.'  Nor 
should  we  forget  what  Voltaire  made  of  Sophocles' 
'  Electra,'  or  of  the  '  Choephori '  of  ^schylus  in 
his  '  Orestes.' " 

The  English  reader  who  sees  Lemaitre  speak 
so  freely  of  Voltaire,  one  of  the  deities  of  our 
classic  drama,  will  perhaps  forgive  him  his  opin- 
ions on  the  Shakespeare  tragedies.  To  Shake- 
speare's comedies  he  gives  his  entire  approbation. 
The  poesy  of  the  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream," 
the  hidden  meaning  of  the  part  of  Titania,  and 
the  clown-like  presumption  of  Bottom  —  all  this 
delights  Lemaitre.  But  Hamlet  is  another  thing. 
"Who  are  you,  Hamlet,  Prince  of  Denmark? 
Weak,  headstrong,  melancholy,  yet  violent  youth  ! 
Dreamy  and  brutal,  superstitious  yet  philosophi- 
cal, sensible  yet  insane,  by  turns  an  exquisite 
poet  and  an  insipid  punster,  strangely  fantastic 
yet  genial  personage  !  You  who  appear  to  Shake- 
speare in  the  shape  of  a  stout,  asthmatic  fellow ; 
whom  we  always  see  as  a  pale,  elegant  figure 
in  a  black  velvet  cap  and  doublet,  like  an  elder 
brother  of  Faust ;  whom  we  consider  as  the  per- 
sonification of  modern  romanticism,  of  the  pessi- 
mism and  nihilism,  of  the  nervousness  of  our  day. 
We  have  ascribed  to  you  so  many  thoughts  and 
feelings,  poor  Hamlet,  that  you  have  become  un- 
recognizable.    In  order  to  see  you  as  you  really 


JULES  LEMAITRE  193 

are,  we  should  have  to  efface  the  layers  of  paint 
laid  on  by  commentators  and  interpreters.  What 
would  we  not  give  to  see  you  with  unprejudiced 
eyes,  to  see  you  as  you  came  from  the  hands  of 
Shakespeare  ?  "  And  he  adds,  "  However  obscure, 
however  full  of  contradiction  a  dramatic  character 
may  seem,  a  great  actor  can  always  illustrate  and 
explain  certain  passages  in  the  part.  Mounet  Sully 
does  so  in  Hamlet."  We  cannot  fail  to  see  that 
Lemaitre  confesses  himself  lost  in  the  whirl.  The 
gloomy  workings  of  the  Dane's  mind  are  too  foreign 
to  his  race  ;  he  takes  refuge  in  the  "  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream." 

"What  a  difference  there  is,"  he  exclaims, 
"  between  the  forest  of  the  dream  and  the  sacred 
grove  where  CEdipus  loses  his  way.  How  un- 
like is  the  spirit  of  Shakespeare  to  that  of  Sopho- 
cles !  Instead  of  evergreen  oaks  and  laurels, 
with  their  leaves  standing  sharply  out  upon  the 
blue  sky,  we  have  great  waving  trees  with  moon- 
beams filtering  through  their  quivering  branches, 
and  the  rustling  flight  of  invisible  beings.  A  whole 
swarm  of  hidden  life  pervades  the  piece.  Titania 
calls,  and  the  sylphs  appear,  wreathe  roses  about 
the  head  of  the  beloved  donkey,  and  dance  around. 
The  contrast  is  so  great,  the  symbol  so  plain,  the 
whole  scene  so  bold  and  so  gracefully  fantastic, 
that  it  is  painful  and  comical  at  the  same  time. 
We  seem  to  move  in  a  dream,  and  scarcely  know 
whether  our  heart  is  most  troubled  or  our  fancy 
most  amused."  This  description  of  Titania  is  in 
one  of  Lemaitre's  best  "  notes  of  fantasy,"  but  in 
the  name  of  logic  what  has  CEdipus'  sacred  grove 


194  JULES  LEMAfTRE 

to  do  with  it  ?  Where  was  the  necessity  of  bring- 
ing in  Sophocles,  and  what  could  Titania's  pretty- 
little  fairies  and  the  dark  Erinyes  have  to  say  to 
one  another  ?  There  is  certainly  no  palpable  rea- 
son for  so  far-fetched  a  comparison. 

I  must  return  for  a  moment  to  the  comments  of 
Leraaitre  on  French  classic  authors,  and  in  par- 
ticular to  the  most  religious  of  Corneille's  trage- 
dies, because  these  essays  contain  the  very  essence 
of  Lemaitre's  mind  ;  that  eclecticism  of  education 
which  drove  him  fi'om  the  seminary,  where  he  was 
preparing  to  take  orders,  to  the  university,  whence 
he  rose  to  fame.  This  piety,  strained  through  the 
sieve  of  philosophy,  is  peculiar  to  Lemaitre.  What 
he  says  of  Polyeucte,  though  in  a  way  absolutely 
critical,  proceeds  from  a  mind  sufficiently  open  to 
receive  all  dogmas  and  yet  closed  enough  to  refuse 
every  kind  of  relief  through  logical  deductions  — 
to  be,  in  fact,  what  Lemaitre  says  of  himself : 
"  Prince  ne  puis,  Bourgeois  ne  veux,  curieux 
suis ! " 

"  The  public  of  to-day,"  says  Lemaitre,  "  appreci- 
ates Polyeucte  much  moi'e  than  did  the  public  of 
two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago."  This  play,  so 
full  of  religious  feeling,  pleases  us  more  than  it 
pleased  the  men  of  the  seventeenth  century,  be- 
cause we  are  not  such  good  Christians,  nor  are  we 
suspicious  of  it  as  were  the  men  of  the  eighteenth 
century  ;  we  are  more  philosophical.  For  the  aus- 
tere believers  of  the  seventeenth  century  this  mar- 
tyr, who  talks  more  of  the  delights  of  Paradise  than 
of  the  grace  of  God,  is  but  a  "  mystical  glutton." 
This  audacious   expression   none  but  a  Lemaitre 


JULES  LEMAITRE  195 

dare  use.  But  how  picturesque  under  his  pen  ! 
Such  is  the  opinion  of  Arnaud's  contemporaries 
upon  Polyeucte.  We,  on  the  contrary,  look  upon 
him  as  one  of  those  sincere  enthusiasts,  those  apos- 
tles militant,  who  are  the  salt  of  the  earth.  Pauline 
and  Severus  were  always  favorites  in  the  two  pre- 
ceding centuries,  and  opinions  have  not  changed 
concerning  them,  as  Voltaire  says  in  the  following 
well-known  lines :  — 

"  De  Polyeucte  la  belle  ame 
Aurait  faiblement  attendri, 
Et  les  vers  chr^tiens  qu'il  d^clame 
Seraient  tomb^s  dans  le  d^cri, 
N'eut  ^t^  I'amour  de  sa  femme 
Pour  ce  paien  favori, 
Qui  m^ritait  bien  rnieux  sa  flamme 
Que  son  devot  de  mari." 

Lemaitre  concludes  Corneille's  tragedy  in  the 
best  possible  way,  — he  makes  Pauline  marry  Seve- 
rus. The  latter,  he  says,  "  will  make  her  perfectly 
happy  and  not  interfere  with  her  religion  ;  " 
irrespective  of  the  period  in  which  Severus  lives 
Lemaitre  proclaims  him  to  belong  to  the  Renais- 
sance. As  Lemaitre  wishes  every  one  to  be 
happy,  he  writes  codas  and  epilogues  to  divers 
plays,  makes  Pauline  marry  Severus,  as  he  makes 
Alceste  marry  Celimene. 

"  Alceste,  like  Hamlet,"  says  our  critic,  "  is  so 
disfigured  by  commentators  that  he  has  become 
incomprehensible.  What  with  Rene,  Lara,  and 
Rousseau,  we  have  formed  a  painful  and  melan- 
choly Alceste,  quite  different  from  the  honest, 
plain-spoken  gentleman  Moliere  introduced  to  us. 
If  Moliere  could  hear  us  now  !      He  would  cer- 


196  JULES  LEMAITRE 

tainly  opine  that  we  have  altered  the  '  man  with 
the  green  ribbons  to  a  man  in  mourning.'  " 

Lemaitre  is  exceedingly  severe,  too,  upon  Celi- 
mene's  salon  ;  he  calls  it  coarse.  "  We  are  told," 
he  says,  "  that  this  is  the  drawing-room  of  a  court 
lady,  and  the  talk  is  that  of  the  servants'  hall. 
It  is  stiff  and  odd,  and  we  turn  with  delight  to 
the  polite  conversation  of  our  day,  carried  on  dis- 
creetly and  familiarly  in  low,  broken  tones.  What 
shaU  we  say,"  continues  the  critic,  "  of  the  scene 
where  Arsinoe,  instead  of  gently  hinting  what  she 
has  on  her  mind,  informs  Celimene  that  she  has 
come  to  tell  her  unpleasant  truths  ?  What  mod- 
ern society  of  plain  citizens  (and  we  are  supposed 
to  be  at  court !)  would  stand  the  behavior  of  such 
cads  as  the  men  who  show  Celimene's  letters  one 
to  another?  Can  one  imagine  worse  manners 
than  those  of  Eliante  and  Philinte  ?  '  If  Alceste 
does  not  marry  Celimene,  I  shall  be  delighted  to 
get  him  myself,'  thinks  Eliante.  '  You  know,' 
says  Philinte  to  Eliante,  '  you  need  not  mind ;  if 
nobody  else  will  have  you  I  'U  marry  you  my- 
self.' "  Lemaitre  thinks  the  behavior  of  these 
so-called  noblemen  towards  Celimene  outrageous. 
"  Any  gentleman  would  be  ready  to  offer  his  arm 
to  Celimene  and  lead  her  out  of  the  room,  when 
these  ponderous  scandal-mongers  commence  at- 
tacking her."  What  must  be  Sarcey's  anger  at 
the  liberties  Lemaitre  takes  with  Moliere ! 

Apropos  of  the  "  Malade  imaginaire,"  our  crit- 
ic's satire  thunders  at  Moliere's  morale  "  that  the 
children  should  see  their  father  made  fun  of,  and 
Thomas  Diafoirus  turned  into  ridicule  because  he 


JULES  LEMAITRE  197 

is  a  good  pvpil.  Argan  is  laughed  at  by  his  entire 
household ;  his  wife,  his  daughter,  Louison,  all  poke 
fun  at  him.  Children  leave  this  play  bursting  with 
mutinous  laughter  and  vaguely  inclined  to  open 
revolt.  Is  it  not  very  serious  to  make  them  rebel 
so  young,  when  we  know  the  greatest  blessings 
of  life  are  innocent  credulity  and  resignation  ?  " 
Begging  Lemaitre's  pardon,  in  this  case  he  greatly 
overestimates  the  critical  faculties  of  a  schoolboy 
audience.  Children  mostly  laugh  without  know- 
ing why ;  it  is  only  toward  the  age  of  fifteen  that 
they  begin  to  understand  and  to  draw  conclusions 
from  the  causes  of  their  mirth. 

Neither  do  plays  chosen  especially  for  the  young 
win  Lemaitre's  approbation.  He  attacks  "  An- 
dromaque,"  repeating  in  other  words  Madame  de 
Maintenon's  censure  upon  the  part  of  Hermione. 
"  The  part  was  so  well  acted  at  St.  Cyr  that  none 
of  the  girls  shall  ever  play  it  again.""  Hermione's 
outbursts  of  passion  are  certainly  rather  vehement, 
but  it  is  only  later  in  life  that  girls  can  share  the 
sentiments  of  women  under  any  costume.  Up  to 
the  age  of  twenty  no  girl  would  think  of  fancying 
herself  a  Hermione,  or  of  assimilating  Hermione's 
passions  to  her  own  feelings,  imless  some  one  else 
put  the  idea  into  her  head. 

When  we  consider  Lemaitre's  bold  nature,  his 
frankness,  and  his  freedom  of  thought,  we  are  not 
surprised  at  his  aversion  to  Marivaux.  The  latter 
makes  him  laugh  nervously  as  if  some  one  tickled 
him.  "  I  always  feel  inclined  to  plunge  into  Ra- 
belais when  I  have  been  reading  Marivaux." 
Among  modern  authors  his   preferences  lie  with 


198  JULES  LEMAITRE 

Alexandre  Dumas  fils,  whose  precise  logic,  sharp 
and  prodigious  eloquence,  daring  wit,  he  naturally 
appreciates.  "  When  writing  of  one  of  Alexandre 
Dumas'  plays  I  feel  an  intense  desire  to  discuss  it 
with  some  one  before  even  reviewing  it  for  the 
public  ;  this  shows  plainly  enough  how  these 
dramas  take  hold  of  one's  whole  mind."  " '  The 
Ideas  of  Madame  Aubray,'  "  he  continues, "  is  the 
work  of  a  man  of  great  courage  and  of  prodigious 
talent.  All  Dumas'  great  and  despotic  qualities 
appear  fully  in  Denise  also.  But,  in  most  of  Du- 
mas' works  the  great  interest  lies  in  the  cas  de 
conscience,  as  it  does  in  Shakespeare's  plays  and 
in  those  of  the  ancients.  Dumas  is  a  prophet  of 
Israel,  who  condescends  to  be  witty,  a  Jeremiah  of 
the  Boulevards,  a  misogynist  like  Euripides,  who 
scolds  women  while  dreading  their  influence.  In 
his  plays  the  critical  person  possessed  with  Satan's 
witticisms  whilst  at  the  same  time  he  seems  in 
the  secrets  of  the  Almighty's  wisdom  is  a  notable 
figure."  The  admiration  for  Dumas'  despotism  is 
characteristic  of  Lemaitre's  talent,  vigorous  and 
supple  as  steel,  quick,  penetrating  and  powerful. 
"  The  great  and  despotic  qualities  of  Dumas  ! " 
One  sentence  rarely  gives,  as  this  one  does,  the 
very  essence  of  an  author's  talent,  and  I  know  no 
words  better  calculated  to  convey  to  the  mind  of 
the  English  reader  a  true  notion  of  Jules  Lemaitre 
as  a  critic.  He  admires  Dumas'  despotism  because 
despotism  implies  strength  of  belief,  and  because 
Dumas  is  a  man  of  great  courage  and  prodigious 
talent.  Lemaitre  steadfastly  keeps  away  from  for- 
cible epithets  unless  he  is  excited,  and  he  is  never 


JULES  LEMAITRE  199 

excited  but  by  transcendent  talent!  The  enthu- 
siasm falls,  when  he  comes  to  Sardou,  "who  in 
'  Patrie  '  rises  not  above  a  simile  —  '  Corneille  mi- 
nus genius  ! '  ever  pursued  by  the  unique  research 
of  theatrical  combinations." 

"  In  '  La  Tosca,' "  writes  Lemaitre,  "  it  is  diffi- 
cult for  me  to  be  at  all  impartial,  as  the  sight  of 
physical  suffering  has  always  been  so  imbearable 
that  in  childhood,  whilst  reading  the  'Vie  des 
Saints,'  the  details  of  martyrdoms  were  so  repul- 
sive to  my  feelings  that  I  dreaded  the  very  sight  of 
the  book.  Whenever,  to  this  day,  extreme  physi- 
cal suffering  is  imposed  upon  me  it  stuns  me,  and 
entirely  destroys  any  feeling  whatsoever  except 
horror  and  a  wish  to  rush  from  it ;  though  it  has 
to  be  admitted  that  bodily  pain,  being  the  basis  of 
much  in  our  lives,  is  necessarily  also  a  component 
element  in  art.  The  Tosca,  however,  shows  very 
unlike  real  life  in  this,  that  no  living  woman  could 
silently  withstand  the  sufferings  of  the  man  she 
adores.  Words  were  not  perhaps  indispensable, 
but  screams  and  writhings  must  have  happened. 
In  the  scene  with  Scarpia  also,  no  speech  was 
required,  tragical  pantomime  was  the  essence  of 
the  action."  "  Get  academicien  est  un  decadent," 
declares  Lemaitre ;  "  he  is  bringing  the  French 
stage  back  to  the  Roman  circus." 

Before  coming  to  Lemaitre's  appreciation  of  the 
foreign  stage,  I  will  show  him  meeting,  strange  to 
say,  in  his  appreciation  of  actresses,  with  two  men 
as  different  from  himself  as  they  are  different  from 
each  other,  namely,  Dumas  and  Brunetiere.  As 
to  the  artificiality  of  actresses  in  general,  Brune- 


200  JULES  LEMAITRE 

tiere  says :  "  Illumined  by  footlights  in  all  their 
doings  they  never  cease  '  acting '  in  the  most  com- 
monplace deeds  of  their  daily  lives."  Dumas,  in 
the  "  Comtesse  Romani,"  takes  up  the  same  theme. 
About  to  step  on  the  "  boards  "  the  Romani  meets 
her  husband,  who  has  suddenly  found  out  the  scan- 
dals of  her  early  life,  and  threatens  to  kill  himself 
before  her  eyes.     The  audience  is  waiting. 

"  I  am  an  actress  above  all,"  says  Dumas'  hero- 
ine. "  My  mother  sold  me  at  the  age  of  fifteen 
to  a  man  I  never  loved  any  more  than  I  loved  you ; 
my  only  real  lover  is  my  Audience ;  all  actresses 
are  the  same.  Kill  me  at  once  or  let  me  pass ;  the 
house  is  waiting."  The  substance  of  this  speech 
amply  displays  the  contempt  Dumas  entertains 
toward  actresses.  Lemaitre's  comment  upon  Du- 
mas' conclusions,  if  a  little  less  definitive,  is  not 
much  more  cordial  to  the  parties  concerned. 

Dumas  makes  the  Romani  draw  the  frank  bru- 
tality of  her  speech  from  her  own  stage  reminis- 
cences ;  but  the  idea  that  a  child  picked  up  in 
Bohemia  goes  logically  from  the  sale  of  her  inno- 
cence to  the  stage,  and  from  the  stage  to  courtesan- 
ship,  —  the  idea  of  sporting  such  discourses  at  such 
a  moment  is  essentially  "  stagy."  "  The  Romani," 
goes  on  Lemaitre,  "  might  have  flung  herself  at 
her  husband's  feet ;  she  might  have  said, '  Save  me 
from  myself  ! '  But  .  .  .  she  is  wearing  her  stage 
costume  —  the  stiff  gold  brocaded  dress  of  the 
'  Fornarina,'  .  .  .  very  inconvenient  for  kneeling ; 
she  has  just  put  on  her  rouge,  darkened  her  eye- 
brows and  lashes,  and  whitened  her  arms.  If  the 
Romani  believed  her  husband  was  going  to  kiU 


JULES  LEMAITRE  201 

himself,  she  would  not  pass  by  him  ;  but  she  believes 
he  is  only  talking  as  she  does,  for  the  sake  of  hear- 
ing her  own  voice  ring.  Besides,  she  has  confessed 
to  the  count,  and  '  confession '  in  theatrical  life  is 
ever  '  the  scene.'  Repentance  means  platitude  ;  no 
'effect'  in  repentance.  Expiation  is  a  phenome- 
non of  inner  life  ;  comedians  possess  no  inner  life. 
The  Romani,"  ends  Lemaitre,  "  is  merely  playing 
a  '  fifth  act '  to  her  own  seK,  and  working  herself 
up  to  factitious  feeling,  which  is  the  essence  of 
'  stagery.'  " 

If  Lemaitre  despises  hyperboles  when  speaking 
of  Sophocles  and  ^schylus  ;  if  even  when  expa- 
tiating on  the  literary  cults  of  our  public,  Racine 
and  Voltaire,  his  undaunted  humor  cuts  its  freest 
capers,  how  can  one  expect  him  to  lie  prostrate  at 
first  sight  before  Bjornson  and  Ibsen  ?  To  spring 
at  once  from  the  bowers  of  "  La  Baronne  d'Ange  " 
into  the  abstract  spheres  of  "Brand,"  or  of 
"  Higher  than  Nature,"  is  no  easy  gymnastic  feat 
for  a  thoroughly  French  mind,  trained  especially 
to  French  feeling  and  to  French  philosophy ;  to  a 
bent  of  feeling  which  leads  our  stage  to  study  the 
results  of  conjugal  infidelity  far  more  narrowly 
than  the  evolutions  of  faith.  This  does  not  at  all 
mean,  as  too  often  is  believed  in  England,  that  we 
do  not  care  about  this  last  evolution,  but  simply 
that  we  are  a  nation  particularly  fond  of  classi- 
fications, since  St.  Francois  de  Sales  himself 
thought  so  much  of  the  diversity  of  souls  as  to 
declare :  "  La  religion  du  soldat  ne  doit  pas  etre 
la  religion  du  capucin  !  "  I  would  almost  say  that 
our  austerity  is  at  the  bottom  of  our  apparent  flip- 


202  JULES  LEMAITRE 

pancy,  as  the  greatest  secrecy  lies  often  in  the 
depths  of  the  most  apparently  jocose  personalities. 
According  to  our  one-sided  views  religious  ques- 
tions belong  to  the  church.  Questions  of  feeling 
belong  to  the  stage.  Reasoning  and  arguing  be- 
long to  philosophy. 

Until  Dumas  came,  a  theatre  with  us  had  some- 
times been  a  school,  it  had  never  been  a  pulpit. 
The  great  difference,  however,  to  be  observed 
between  Lemaitre's  critique  of  the  northern  drama- 
tists and  the  critique  of  his  fellows  in  the  press  is 
this :  that  no  ill-will,  no  short-sighted  patriotism, 
hinders  or  hampers  Lemaitre.  On  the  contrary 
he  goes  to  this  entirely  new  form  of  drama  with  a 
wish  to  appreciate  it. 

"  Why,  after  all,"  writes  he,  apropos  of  "  Higher 
than  Nature,"  —  "  why  should  we  not  feel  as  great 
an  interest  in  a  soul  which  is  undergoing  the  tragi- 
cal loss  of  its  faith,  as  in  a  heart  which  is  tearing 
itself  away  from  human  love  ? "  Setting  aside 
the  abstract  tendencies  of  some  of  Ibsen's  pieces 
and  symbols,  which  ever  will  remain  adverse  to  the 
Gallic  genius ;  setting  aside  the  mystic  tendencies 
of  certain  of  these  pieces  (not  because  they  are 
mystical,  but  because  northern  mysticism  is  not 
congenial  to  us),  —  setting  aside  this  note  of  the 
Ibsen  literary  temperament,  the  other  dramas,  the 
social  dramas,  for  instance,  or  the  pathological 
ones,  such  as  "  Ghosts,"  might  find  an  echo  in  the 
author  of  "  Les  Rois  "  and  in  the  "  Lemaitre  du 
theatre."  I  name  "  Ghosts  "  on  purpose,  because 
the  freeness  of  the  j^hysiological  consequences  of 
a  vice  would  at  once  predispose  the  English  reader 


JULES  lemaItre  203 

to  name  that  piece  among  all  Ibsen's  repertory 
as  one  of  the  most  agi-eeable  to  our  public.  In 
the  point  of  view  of  the  science-loving  auditor,  the 
English  reader  wiU  be  right :  "  Ghosts  "  effectively 
won  Ibsen  among  French  scientists  his  first  vein 
of  popularity.  We  are  fond  of  truth  to  nature, 
and  this  piece,  above  aU  others,  was  true  in  its 
sequences.  But  scientists  are  scarce,  a  theatre  is 
not  a  laboratory,  and  Lemaitre  being  a  French 
man  of  letters,  trained  to  French  ideals,  has  neces- 
sarily and  paramount  not  only  the  religion  of  the 
mother,  but  also  the  impossibility  of  admitting 
that  out  of  a  mother's  weakness  there  can  ever 
come  any  good. 

Now  what  of  Madame  Alving,  with  her  compro- 
mises and  her  connivances  at  her  husband's  pri- 
vate pleasures  ?  What  of  a  mother  —  according  to 
the  French  ideal  of  the  family  —  what  of  a  mother 
who,  for  fear  of  losing  hold  of  her  husband,  puts 
up  with  his  lowest  tastes,  and,  in  order  to  keep  a 
hearth  for  her  son,  brings  down  her  own  motherly 
dignity?  Lemaitre,  being  French  among  French, 
and  writing  principally  for  the  French  reader,  must 
necessarily  rebuke  Madame  Alving,  —  rebuke  her 
far  more  energetically  than  any  of  Madame  Sand's 
revoltees,  because  these  last  are  only  revoltees 
through  the  momentary  ascendency  of  passionate 
love  in  their  souls  ;  whereas  Madame  Alving 
speaks  never  the  language  of  rash  and  violent  im- 
pulse, but  preaches,  and  tires  with  her  eternal 
"  brain  arguings."  "  If  she  has  no  faith,"  con- 
cludes Lemaitre,  "  no  faith  in  God,  she  should  at 
least  have  that  other  faith  which  teaches  us  that 


204  JULES  LEMAITRE 

sacrifice  and  resignation  are  far  above  empty 
revolt." 

There  ever  remain  in  a  cultivated  French  mind 
slight  reminiscences  of  Port-Royal,  if  only  to  be 
applied  to  the  moral  standard  of  his  time  as  with 
Sainte-Beuve,  to  the  appreciation  of  foreign  liter- 
atures as  with  Lemaitre.  "  If  Ibsen's  continual 
moral  insurrections  were  not  helped  on  by  genius, 
I  should  not  bear  with  them  a  moment." 

A  Lemaitre  after  all  cannot  be  expected  to  slip 
on  a  cowl,  and,  taper  in  hand,  follow  the  pilgrims 
to  Denmark  or  Baireuth,  Ibsenism  being  akin  to 
Wagnerism  !  Certain  of  Ibsen's  works  are  sin- 
cerely displeasing  to  him.  " '  The  Wild  Duck ' 
is  the  most  flagrant  contradiction  to  all  of  Ibsen's 
work,"  writes  Lemaitre,  "  since  Grege's  truth-teU- 
ing  is  accompanied  for  all  the  truth  receivers  by 
most  cruel  catastrophes.  '  The  Wild  Duck '  ap- 
pears as  though  it  were  the  apology  of  insincerity, 
whilst  tiU  then  Ibsen  seemed  to  have  set  his  whole 
belief  on  truth  a  outrance!'"  Pasteur  Sang,  in 
"  Higher  than  Nature,"  is  less  antipathetic  to  our 
critic,  because  his  natural  tendency  towards  cate- 
gorization finds  its  vent  in  a  piece  so  neatly  and 
uniquely  in  the  abstract.  No  interference  of 
human  passions  brings  in  any  complication  of  ele- 
ments. Pasteur  Sang  has  lost  his  faith.  Upon 
that  one  tragic  evolution  stands  the  whole  drama, 
and  none  will  think  it  strange  in  a  compatriot  of 
Pascal  to  sympathize  with  Sang,  who  dies  of  the 
loss  of  a  belief,  the  mere  transient  fluctuation  of 
which  in  the  end  caused  Pascal's  death. 


JULES  LEMAITRE  205 


III 

As  a  dramatist  Lemaitre  was  only  revealed  to 
the  public  in  1891  by  a  political  piece,  "  Le  Depute 
Leveau."  Since  then  he  has  often  appeared  on 
the  stage  twice  in  the  same  year.  "  The  Pardon  " 
was  a  great  success,  acknowledged  by  Lemaitre 
himself  in  his  following  "  Lundi." 

He  is  as  impartial  to  his  own  pieces  as  he  might 
be  to  any  other  reviewed  writer.  Still  he  defends 
his  own  work  when  attacked.  Such  was  the  case 
of  "  Mariage  blanc  "  (Platonic  marriage),  the 
story  of  a  young  consumptive  who  meets  a  gen- 
erous-minded "  viveur  "  possessed  with  the  desire 
of  giving  happiness.  Simone  Aubert  is  dying. 
Her  greatest  sorrow  is  not  to  leave  life,  but  to 
leave  it  unloved.  Jacques  de  Thievre,  a  man  of 
five-and-forty,  sobered  down  by  a  very  fast  life, 
goes  through  the  form  of  marriage  with  Simone, 
and  Simone's  innocence  leaves  her  convinced  that 
she  is  Jacques'  wife.  Simone,  however,  has  a 
sister  Marthe,  a  half  sister,  a  strong  and  vigorous 
young  woman,  who,  before  Simone  married 
Jacques,  already  loved  him.  Marthe  pursues 
Jacques.  At  last  one  evening  Simone  perceives 
Marthe  in  the  arms  of  Jacques.  She  says  not  a 
word,  but  silently  drops  dead.  Jacques  never 
loved  in  reality  either  Simone  or  Marthe.  The 
aesthetic  wish  for  a  noble  deed  to  end  his  life  with 
prompted  him  to  marry  this  poor  child  and  give 
her  the  illusion  of  love !  The  abnormality  of  his 
situation  and  the  untiring  persecution  of  Marthe 
lead  him  to  what  happens.     "  I  have  myself  expe- 


206  JULES  LEMAItRE 

rienced  what  I  have  depicted,"  writes  Jules  Le- 
maitre  on  the  Monday  following  the  presentation 
of  "  Mariage  blanc."  "  '  Une  Mourante  '  once  in- 
spired me  with  the  sentiments  I  have  put  into  my 
play.  My  mistake  is  this.  A  '  viveur '  is  not 
placed  in  a  way  to  act  the  St.  Vincent  de  Paul ; 
my  hero  undertakes  deeds  much  above  his  moral 
means.  Charity  leads  to  self-forgetf ulness,  whereas 
my  hero's  mood  is  but  that  of  an  observer,  of  a 
kind,  good,  amiable  observer,  for  whom  the  world 
is  nought  but  a  pantomime  in  which  he  merely 
watches  the  actors."  The  reader  is  moved  above 
all  when  poor  little  Simone,  half  guessing  at 
Jacques'  motives,  says  to  him,  "  How  you  lived 
before  we  met  I  ignore,  but  what  I  feel  is,  that  I 
am  the  noblest  deed  in  your  life.  To  remember 
me,  mon  Jacques,  will  be  to  remember  the  moment 
when  you  were  best  and  kindest.  That  will  sup- 
port you.  Thus  my  life  will  have  been  of  use  to 
you!" 

In  "  Eevoltee  "  the  situations  are  coarser,  but 
more  natural.  Helene  Rousseau  is  a  kind  of 
Emma  Bovary,  introduced  to  a  society  superior  to 
her  own  (Rousseau  is  a  professor)  by  Madame 
de  Voves,  the  old  friend ;  in  reality  the  mother  of 
Helene.  (Atavism  here  explains  Madame  Rous- 
seau's taste  for  another  sphere  than  her  hus- 
band's.) Introduced  to  the  "  world,"  properly  so 
called,  Helene  meets  Bretigny,  the  commonplace 
stage-lover.  She  opposes  him  with  irony.  "  You 
wish  for  me  as  a  mistress ;  this  does  not  suit  me." 
Still  poor  Rousseau  is  "  too  resigned."  He  has  a 
way,  says  Helene,  of  submitting  to  fate,  of  persist- 


JULES  LEMAITRE  207 

ently  doing  his  duty  through  all,  which  means  a 
disapproval  of  her  own  views  of  life.  One  day 
events  bring  Rousseau  and  Bretigny  together,  — 
the  brave,  noble,  plodding  husband  and  the  "  thief  " 
lover.  The  duel  in  which  Rousseau  fights  Bretigny 
for  his  wife  wins  him  back  this  wife's  love,  —  the 
eternal  truism,  that  love  only  goes  toward  visible 
strength,  and  that  few  women  are  able  to  depict 
courage  under  the  steadfast,  monotonous  accom- 
plishment of  daily  duties.  Andre  de  Voves,  who 
feels  toward  Rousseau  a  deep  and  devoted  friend- 
ship, acting  unknowingly  thus  as  the  brother  of 
Helene,  whose  brother  he  really  is,  —  Andre  de 
Voves  is  the  only  very  interesting  character  in  the 

play. 

Whether  in  "  Mariage  blanc,"  or  in  "  Revoltee," 
or  in  "  Les  Rois,"  or  in  "  Le  Pardon,"  the  evidence 
of  Lemaitre's  effort  to  arrive  at  Dumas'  strength 
of  dialogue  is  striking.  That,  however,  is  not 
reached.  The  sphere  where  Lemaitre  is  a  Dumas 
is  criticism.  There,  in  that  field,  lives  a  Lemaitre 
unequaled  by  any  writer  of  his  period.  In  "  Les 
Rois,"  which  he  dedicated  to  Dumas,  the  effort 
(very  possibly  unconscious)  toward  imitation  is 
very  striking.  "  Les  Rois  "  is  a  subtle  satire  of 
the  modern  social  status  —  where  kings  are  borne 
with  only  when  they  take  good  care  to  obey  the 
public  tendencies.  Hermann,  however,  the  lib- 
eral "  kronprinz,"  ends  by  being  obliged  to  resign. 
He  flies  with  the  socialistic  Lady  Frida,  and  both 
disappear  in  death,  whilst  Sarah  Bernhardt,  who 
represents  "  divine  right "  and  frantic  jealousy,  has 
not  remained  platonic  in  the  mystery  of  Frida's 


208  JULES  LEMAITRE 

mortal  disappearance.  Wilhelmlne  is  avenging, 
soi-disant,  her  son's  rights,  in  reality  her  own 
heart-sores.  This  part  of  haughty  autocratism  and 
desperate  passion,  conducive  to  displays  of  great 
caresses  and  great  outbursts  of  fury,  was  written 
expressly  for  Sarah  and  formed  the  success  of 
"Les  Rois." 

"  Le  Pardon "  brought  up  strong  recrimina- 
tions on  the  stiff  side  of  society.  To  see  in  the 
space  of  two  hours  the  very  dolorous  and  very 
true  drama  of  definite  reconciliation  between  hus- 
band and  wife  because  both  have  been  untrue  to 
each  other ;  to  establish  a  new  start  in  life  for  a 
menage  on  the  fact  of  both  being  faithless,  is,  of 
course,  very  true  as  to  naturalistic  observation, 
but,  because  true,  rather  unpalatable  to  the  hearer. 
Suzanne  comes  home  in  the  first  act,  after  hav- 
ing fled  with  a  lover.  She  is  brought  back  to 
Georges,  her  husband,  by  Therese,  her  dear  friend. 
And  poor  Suzanne's  heart  has  risen  now  to  a  real 
cult  for  Georges  after  comparing  his  nobility  of 
character  to  the  poor  personage  she  had  given  him 
for  rival.  But  circumstances  and  mutual  confi- 
dences have  brought  Therese  and  Georges  so  near 
that  now  Suzanne  knows  her  husband  has  done 
unto  her  as  she  did  unto  him.  The  repeated 
phrase,  "  I  know  that,"  which  comes  mechanically 
to  the  lips  of  each  whenever  they  rise  to  epanche- 
ments,  shows  this,  and  "  pardon  "  comes  all  the 
more  thoroughly  between  this  couple,  because  they 
are  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  distastes  of 
deceit  and  falsehood ! 

Those  are  the  truths  that  the  public  does  not 


JULES  LEMAITRE  209 

always  wish  to  hear.  "  Le  Pardon  "  at  first  gave 
that  impression,  but  time  wore  on,  and  Mme. 
Bartet's  wonderful  acting  won  favor  for  it.  The 
very  rigorous  viorale  Lemaitre  invokes  when  he 
condemns  Madame  Alving  au  nom  de  la  famille, 
might  perhaps  stand  in  the  way  of  "  Le  Pardon  " 
as  fairly  conceived  after  the  fashion  of  Georges 
and  Suzanne ;  the  menage  is  not  exactly  the  type 
of  what  children  wovdd  wish  to  honor  in  the  per- 
sons of  father  and  mother.  Is  Lemaitre's  morale^ 
then,  of  the  double  nature  of  the  Marquise  de 
Sevigne's  chocolate,  at  once  "aperiative  and  di- 
gestive "  ?  "  Je  prends  du  chocolat  egalement 
pour  me  mettre  en  appetit  et  pour  m'alimenter  !  " 

Is  Lemaitre's  critic  severe  or  indulgent  toward 
the  same  failings  according  as  these  failings  will 
produce  themselves  in  or  out  of  his  own  country  ? 
That  we  will  not  admit.  Lemaitre  is  no  narrow 
"  Chauvin."  His  foremost  feature  is  impartiality, 
—  the  impartiality  of  curiosity,  the  impartiality  of 
a  dilettante,  who  wishes  not  by  any  useless  display 
of  severity  to  put  boundaries  to  his  investigations. 
In  a  vivid  sketch  of  a  "  Prince,"  written  apropos 
of  the  Due  d'Aumale,  where  Lemaitre  alternately 
shows,  with  great  equality  of  justice,  all  the  ad- 
vantages of  being  a  prince  and  all  the  disadvan- 
tages as  well,  he  ends  with  the  typical  word,  pic- 
turing his  own  personality,  —  a  word  so  thoroughly 
comprehensive  of  Lemaitre's  whole  being  that  we 
will  let  this  word  be  the  signature  of  these  pages : 
"  Prince  ne  puis.  Bourgeois  ne  veux,  curieux  suis," 
says  Lemaitre.  And  curious  indeed  may  well  be 
said  to  be  the  man  whose  critical  appreciations 


210  JULES  LEMAITRE 

from  jEschylus  to  Kenan,  and  from  Ibsen  to 
Scribe,  are  awaited  by  tbe  men  of  letters  of  Paris 
with  the  same  unswerving  anxiety;  the  man  be- 
fore whom  all  "  delicats  "  suspend  their  judgment, 
saying,  "Attendons  Lundi  pour  voir  ce  que  dit 
Lemaitre." 


ANATOLE  FRANCE 


"  If  the  oak,"  I  suggested  to  Professor  Daren, 
"  were  not  disposed  to  grow,  no  power  on  earth 
could  make  it  do  so ! "  Professor  Daren  said  I 
was  mistaken,  —  which  confirms  me  in  the  belief 
that  Academicians  certainly  differ  from  oaks,  as 
most  of  them  settle  into  their  seats  only  after  long 
series  of  willful  efforts,  directed  uniquely  towards 
the  result  finally  obtained. 

Innumerable  cups  of  tea  handed  round  and 
unctuously  swallowed  by  candidates,  in  the  euphe- 
mistic atmosphere  of  the  pompous  Cathos  and 
Madelons  so  wittily  sketched  by  Pailleron,i  old 
mistresses  worshiped  and  young  ones  discarded, 
professions  of  faith  about  "  no  woman  being  worth 
looking  at  till  past  fifty,"  and  "  I'age  de  I'esprit," 
extolled  far  above  all  else  (whatever  the  unex- 
pressed and  effective  worship  of  the  "  hopeful " 
may  be)  —  those  are  the  unmistakable  signs  of  will 
on  the  part  of  candidates  which  essentially  differ- 
entiate them  from  the  oak. 

If  towards  the  age  of  forty  a  man  has  managed 

to  write  a  few  volumes,  he  begins  to  ask  himself 

why  he  should  not  become  one  of  those  who  in 

company  with  a  prince  of  the  blood  (Monsieur  le 

*  Le  Monde  ou  Von  s^ennuie. 


212  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

Due  d'Aumale),  debarred  from  other  government, 
go  and  rule  over  the  destinies  of  a  dictionary.^ 
The  forty-year-old  individual  in  question,  who 
has  written  these  few  volumes,  does  not  further 
ask  himself  whether,  endowed  with  the  pen  of  a 
Renan,  he  is  really  sidiiciently  master  of  the  lan- 
guage he  himself  uses  to  decide  upon  the  language 
of  others.  Our  forty-year-old  individual  con- 
cludes, if  he  be  a  naturalist  writer,  that  he  will 
become  an  idealist,  in  order  to  please  the  dukes.^ 
He  abandons  his  own  racy  atmosphere,  and  falls 
into  the  puerile  style,  writing  "  Le  Reve  "  ^  in  vain, 
since  "  La  Debacle  "  is  to  follow. 

Whatever,  indeed,  be  the  work  by  which  the 
aspirant  recommends  himself  to  the  select  com- 
pany of  the  Immortals,  it  is  generally  a  book 
written  ad  lioc,  a  book  showing  a  distinct  design, 
a  work  aiming  at  a  particular  object,  rather  than 
the  inspired  creation  of  the  man's  own  brain. 
There  are  Academicians  who  are  so  by  vocation. 
These  are  born  old.  At  an  age  when  their  fellows 
delight  in  suppers  and  amusement,  they  read  for 
the  dowagers,  and  coddle  the  lady-electors.  They 
are  bald  at  thirty,  speak  in  a  whisper,  have  no 
other  ideas  than  what  are  allowed  them,  no  mis- 
tresses except  those  "  prescribed."     Such  are  sure 

^  The  proper  function  of  the  Academy  is  the  classifying  of 
the  words  in  the  French  language. 

2  The  duke's  party  at  the  Academy  is  that  which  votes 
with  the  Duke  de  Broglie,  Pasquier,  etc. 

^  Le  Reve  was  written  by  Zola  with  a  view  to  entering  the 
Academy,  and  La  Debacle,  which  followed,  was  a  return  to 
naturalism,  which  sufficiently  indicated  that  the  object  of 
his  dream  had  not  been  attained. 


ANATOLE  FRANCE  213 

to  succeed,  for  their  success,  utterly  regardless  of 
talent  or  worth,  depends  only  on  forbearance,  pa- 
tience, intrigue,  and  suppleness.  There  are,  also, 
Academicians  who  are  so  by  right.  These  natu- 
rally form  a  minority,  as  they  owe  their  election 
only  to  their  talent.  Last  of  all,  there  are  Acade- 
micians whose  title  is  their  wit,  and  these  are 
the  exceptions;  exceptions  because  wit,  properly 
so  called,  implies  spontaneity,  both  in  a  person's 
writings  and  in  his  character.  Spontaneity  is 
rarely  an  ally  with  strategy,  and,  to  enter  the 
Academy,  strategy  is  necessary ;  plans  and  mea- 
sures make  up  the  enterprise.  Wit,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  essentially  composed  of  unpremeditated 
sallies ;  wit  spends  more  than  he  gets  back  in 
return  !  I  repeat  that  an  Academicien  d^esprit  is 
an  exception. 

Such  a  title  is  the  one  to  characterize  Anatole 
France.  His  wit  is  so  abundant  that  one  forgets 
there  were  "  father  wits  "  in  times  bygone ;  and 
the  comparison  arises  in  the  mind  between  him 
and  Voltaire,  Henri,  Heine,  Renan,  and  others,  — 
a  comparison  referring,  of  course,  more  to  the 
Voltaire  of  the  "  Contes  ;  "  to  the  Eenan  of  the 
"  Abbesse  de  Jouarre ; "  to  the  Heine  of  the 
"  Memoires."  It  is  in  reading  such  sentences  as 
these  :  "  When  God  created  the  world,  it  was  a 
great  crisis  in  his  existence  ;  "  or  again  :  "  A  God 
being  everything,  He  cannot  stir  in  space  without 
risking  the  overthrow  of  the  world,"  that  we  are 
compelled  to  think  of  "  Candide,"  or  the  "Me- 
moires "  of  Heine.  Similarly  Frere  Ange,  one  of 
the  characters  of  "  La  Reine  Pedauque,"  evokes 


214  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

at  once  the  image  of  Rabelais'  Frere  Jean  or  the 
Neveu  de  Rameau. 

This  mention  of  Voltaire  and  Rabelais,  however, 
is  in  no  way  intended  to  suggest  that  Anatole 
France  is  an  atheist.  True,  in  one  sense,  he  is 
almost  worse,  since,  instead  of  denying,  he  smiles ; 
but  then  he  smiles  at  the  philosopher  no  less  than 
at  the  devout,  while  dogmatists  of  all  sects  seem 
to  him  equally  absurd  ;  and  as  he  makes  fun  of 
savants  and  monks  indifferently,  of  mummy-admir- 
ing Egyptologists  together  with  the  venerators  of 
relics,  he  is,  in  fact,  completely  devoid  of  the  ag- 
gressive characteristics  of  the  real  atheist.  Anatole 
France  would  more  correctly  be  called  afantaisiste. 
The  lechery  of  ecclesiastics  elicits  his  humor,  be- 
cause it  is  engendered  by  abstinence  ;  and  this 
virtue,  producing  its  contrary,  is  eminently  funny 
to  a  mind  like  his.  Moreover  in  his  satires  there 
is  no  fury.  He  does  not  wage  war  like  Voltaire ; 
the  needful  conviction  and  resentment  are  both 
wanting  in  him.  An  exquisite  humanist,  passion- 
ately fond  of  literature,  he  delights  in  such  re- 
vivals as  "  Thais  "  and  "  Marie  Madeline."  The 
highborn  Roman  lady  who  says  to  the  exalted  peni- 
tent, "  Go,  thy  Jesus  and  the  virtues  he  reveals  have 
troubled  my  horizon,"  —  this  daughter  of  Caesar, 
so  deeply  moved  by  her  chance  glimpse  of  the 
inner  life,  is  a  complex  figure  whose  contrasted 
moral  callings  naturally  interest  Anatole  France. 
If  the  beautiful  Roman  lady  does  not  become  a 
saint  of  the  calendar  like  Thais,  at  any  rate  we 
are  not  sure  but  like  Paula  and  Eustochium  she 
may  follow  St.  Jerome  some  day. 


ANATOLE  FRANCE  215 

Does  this  mean  that  Anatole  France  sees  in 
Christianity  merely  a  subject  for  satire?  Far 
from  it.  Indeed,  whatever  he  has  to  say  on  Chris- 
tianity itself  expresses  rather  his  admiration.  His 
raillery  is  reserved  for  theology  and  theologians, 
whereas,  on  the  other  hand,  speaking  of  the  gos- 
pel, he  observes  that  "  a  finer  policy  might  be 
drawn  from  its  precepts  than  that  derived  from 
them  by  the  harsh  Monsieur  Bossuet."  The 
question  might  very  well  be  asked  of  a  man  so 
learned  in  the  worth  of  words  as  our  author,  with 
what  application  he  uses  the  word  "  harsh  "  here, 
whether  to  Bossuet  himself  or  to  his  style.  The 
latter  hypothesis  would  seem  to  be  hardly  tenable, 
grandiloquence,  rather  than  harshness,  being  the 
ordinary  mark  of  Bossuet's  writing. 

Anatole  France  is  one  of  those  diversely  gifted 
minds  to  whom  it  is  almost  impossible  to  assign 
any  one  characteristic  epithet.  He  is  not  properly 
a  satirist,  since,  in  contrast  with  Thais,  he  has 
written  "  Le  Livre  de  mon  Ami."  Even  the 
epithet  fantaisiste  will  be  found  inadequate ;  for 
after  having  written  "  Balthasar,"  "  Lilith,"  and 
"  Le  Reseda  du  Cure,"  he  wrote  weekly,  and  still 
writes,  in  the  "  Temps  "^  subtle,  discriminating 
criticisms,  in  which  his  "  judgment "  shows  itself 
as  penetrating  as  his  fancy  is  brilliant  and  his 
imagination  fertile.  In  the  four  volumes  which 
constitute  his  "  Vie  litteraire,"  and  are  made  up  of 
tis  articles,  it  is  not  a  matter  of  rarity  at  all  to  see 

^  Monsieur  France  has  written  in  the  Temps  for  many- 
years  imaginative  sketches  every  week,  as  well  as  critical 
studies  of  new  books. 


216  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

Monsieur  France  succeed  in  characterizing  a  work 
or  an  individual  by  a  single  phrase.  Of  the  "  Me- 
moirs of  Marie  Bashkirtseff  "  he  says,  "  Their  chief 
merit  is  the  death  of  their  author ; "  of  Madame 
Ackermann,  the  pessimist  poet,  "  She  was  a  Puritan 
atheist ;  "  of  "  Serenus  "  (one  of  Jules  Lemaitre's 
tales),  "It  is  the  history  of  a  saint,  whose  tomb- 
stone inscription  is  his  greatest  virtue."  The  dif- 
ference between  Leconte  de  Lisle  and  Lamartine 
he  defines  thus  :  "  Leconte  de  Lisle  is  determined 
to  owe  everything  to  talent,  Lamartine  to  accept 
nothing  but  from  genius."  According  to  him, 
Balzac  is  "  the  historian  and  not  the  novelist  of  his 
epoch."  Zola,  he  declares,  "  does  not  know  how 
to  make  his  peasants  talk  in  '  La  Terre,'  since  he 
gives  them  the  violent  loquacity  of  townspeople." 

In  particular,  therefore,  Anatole  France  is  the 
man  of  wit.  This  in  itself  is  no  small  praise,  as 
the  quality  is  sufficiently  rare. 

His  "  writing,"  what  the  French  call  sa  forme, 
is  exquisite.  To  be  at  once  a  critic,  a  novelist,  a 
fantaisiste,  according  to  occasion  or  circmnstance, 
is  thrice  to  merit  the  honors  he  has  reaped.  When 
France  became  an  academician  he  had  no  easy  task 
to  perform  in  the  way  of  a  "  discourse,"  having 
to  pronounce  the  eulogium  on  the  standing  ruins 
of  Panama,  of  the  vanquisher  of  Suez.^  Anatole 
France  is  known  in  England  only  to  a  minority 
of  delicately  critical  minds. 

^  Anatole  France  took  the  place  of  the  deceased  Ferdinand 
de  Lesseps.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  the  eulogium  of  Les- 
seps  at  that  time  was  an  undertaking  as  delicate  as  would 
have  been  the  eulogium  of  Law  at  the  time  pf  Voltaire. 


ANATOLE  FRANCE  217 

The  writings  which  maintain  a  line  of  literary 
inspiration  between  Voltaire  and  Merimee  can 
appeal  abroad  only  to  those  who  know  our  lan- 
guage enough  not  to  lose  the  faintest  meanings 
of  it.  Men  whose  works  excel  in  fineness  of  liter- 
ary execution  always  take  longer  to  cross  the 
frontiers  than  do  inferior  authors  ;  and  mediocre 
novelists  especially  find  more  readers  in  foreign 
countries  than  the  critic  does.  In  order  to  be 
interested  in  critics  and  criticism  one  must  know 
the  writers  who  are  discussed.  The  railway  novel, 
or  the  shilling  shocker,  which  is  not  a  work  of 
literature,  —  quite  the  reverse,  —  will  travel  much 
farther  outside  a  country's  boundaries  than  the 
delicately  composed  novel,  which,  in  the  real  sense 
of  the  word,  is  tvritteyi.  For  instance,  where  four 
or  five  copies  of  a  book  of  Edouard  Rod's  are  sold, 
a  thousand  will  be  asked  for  of  Georges  Ohnet's. 
The  literary  critic  stands  somewhat  in  the  same 
relation  as  the  friend  in  life.  Between  friends 
one  hardly  ever  speaks  of  people  one  does  not 
know.  So  a  critic  is  rarely  read  unless  he  hap- 
pens to  treat  of  works  or  men  well  known  already 
and  familiar  to  the  public.  Moreover,  the  novel 
interests  every  one  as  being  a  sort  of  introduction 
to  the  manners  and  customs  of  a  country,  or,  at 
least,  readers  persist  in  believing  so.  Three  fourths 
of  the  French  novels  read  abroad  owe  their  suc- 
cess to  the  fact  that  they  are  considered  as  guides 
to  society.  "  Pot-Bouille  "  is  supposed  to  be  the 
exact  type  of  the  flat  system  in  Paris ;  thus  people 
imagine  that  in  this  town  the  tenants  of  every 
story  think  of  nothing  the  livelong  day  but  of  grati- 


218  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

fying  their  lust.  This  error  arises  more  through 
the  reader's  fault,  however,  than  through  that  of 
the  novelist.  The  author  engraves  on  his  pages 
one  of  the  many  traits  that  life  has  delivered  to 
his  observation.  If  the  reader  willfully  takes  this 
trait  for  a  generalized  truth,  he  deceives  himself. 
The  unfortunate  thing  is,  however,  that  those  who 
suffer  from  the  error  are  the  novelist  and  the  peo- 
ple he  describes,  not  the  reading  public.  It  is 
another  form  of  the  idiotic  traveler  asserting,  "  In 
that  country  all  women  have  red  hair."  The  real 
culprit  is  the  title,  "  Roman  de  Mceurs,"  since 
from  a  book  being  called  a  novel  of  manners,  the 
foreigner  infers  that  the  manners  described  are 
characteristic  of  the  nation.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
one  thing  is  certain,  namely,  that  in  our  time, 
initiation  into  a  knowledge  of  foreign  society  is 
obtained  through  the  novel,  with  the  result,  as  we 
have  already  said,  that  the  inferior  novelist  is 
infinitely  better  known  abroad  than  even  the  finest 
critic.  Thus  in  Paris  we  may  hail  the  reception 
of  Anatole  France  among  the  academy  forty  as  an 
act  of  simple  justice,  whereas  abroad,  except  for 
the  few  who  have  read  "  Sylvestre  Bonnard,"  our 
author's  name  may  be  yet  unknown.  Monsieur 
France's  nouvelles  are  not  studies  of  manners, 
unless,  indeed,  an  exception  is  made  of  "  Le  Lys 
rouge."  The  majority  of  these  novels  are  due 
solely  to  the  author's  need  of  developing  or  creat- 
ing ideas.  Hypnotism  and  soul  evolution  have 
furnished  him  with  the  chief  scientific  and  mysti- 
cal notions  on  which  he  has  based  his  stories. 
"  Thais,"  in  particular,  is  a  true  page  of  the  Golden 


ANATOLE  FRANCE  219 

Legend,  interpreted  in  a  contrary  sense ;  in  reality- 
one  of  the  subtlest  lessons  of  skepticism  amid  the 
display  of  Christian  scenery. 


"  In  a  purified  atmosphere,  where  the  savor  of 
the  good  hermits'  virtues  ascends  toward  heaven, 
a  reformed  rake,  the  young  Paphnutius,  was  doing 
penance  in  company  with  the  monks  of  the 
Thebaid.  Notwithstanding  the  severity  of  the 
penance,  the  thorns  of  the  flesh  forced  him  to  cry 
out.  But  however  keen  these  assaults  were,  '  as 
the  sign  of  the  cross  was  on  him,  Paphnutius 
triumphed.  '  "  It  is  by  such  small  phrases,  ap- 
parently harmless,  that  "  Mephistopheles-France  " 
shows  the  reader  his  claw.  A  little  further  on,  it 
is  an  Abyssinian  cook  on  whom  the  "Lord  had 
conferred  the  gift  of  tears ;  "  an  intimate  confu- 
sion between  the  humility  of  the  personage  and 
the  greatness  of  the  gift,  which  once  more  reveals 
the  smile  of  the  author.  "  One  day  Paphnutius 
was  meditating  on  the  too  numerous  hours  of  his 
early  youth  that  he  had  spent  far  from  God.  He 
remembered  that  at  that  time  he  had  seen  an 
Alexandrian  actress,  named  Thais,  who  was  ador- 
ably beautiful.  He  had  gone  to  her  door  with 
intent  to  hang  there  the  famous  garland,  the  peti- 
tion of  pleasure.  But  his  parents  had  refused  the 
money,  and  .  .  .  Paphnutius  had  given  up  his 
project.  .  .  .  Behold,  the  flower  of  Thais's  nude 
breast  appears  to  him ;  ...  he  feels  Thais's  lov- 
ing arms  lavishing  caresses  on  his  neck ;  .  .  .  and 
the  more  he  feels  and  sees  these  things,  the  more 


220  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

he  is  overwhelmed  by  the  horror  of  sin.  .  .  , 
Thai's  must  not  continue  to  sin,  because  she  is  the 
breath  of  God !  And  the  devil,"  adds  Monsieur 
France,  "  thereupon  installed  himself  in  Paphnu- 
tius's  cell,  under  the  form  of  a  little  jackal," 
prompting  Paphnutius  to  Thai's's  conversion. 

"  Thai's  must  not  continue  to  sin,  because  she  is 
the  breath  of  God ; "  that  is  to  say,  Paphnutius  is 
carried  away  by  his  own  jealousy,  which  disguises 
itself  under  the  cloak  of  devout  zeal.  Paphnutius 
no  longer  hesitates :  he  proceeds  to  Alexandria. 
The  advice  he  receives  from  the  old  monk,  Pale- 
mon,  would  enlighten  him  were  he  open  to  be 
enlightened.  "  Often,  at  your  age,"  said  Palemon, 
"  what  seems  to  be  religious  zeal  is  mere  pride  and 
concupiscence.  Take  care,  Paphnutius;  the  vir- 
tues that  anchorites  embroider  on  the  tissue  of 
faith  are  often  as  frail  as  they  are  magnificent." 
However,  nothing  stops  Paphnutius,  who,  on  reach- 
ing Alexandria,  goes  to  a  former  friend's  house. 
This  friend,  Nicias,  a  philosopher,  receives  him 
and  lends  him  the  necessary  clothing  for  his  en- 
terprise, as  his  own  is  in  tatters  after  the  long 
journey  through  sun  and  rain.  Tha'is  had  been 
baptized,  when  a  child,  by  Saint  Theodorus. 
Paphnutius  therefore  goes  to  Tha'is,  and  comes 
on  the  scene  at  the  critical  moment  when  she  is 
tired  of  her  life  of  pleasure,  so  that  she  offers  but 
faint  resistance.  Before  following  him  into  the 
desert,  however,  she  gets  him  to  accompany  her  to 
a  banquet  of  philosophers  at  the  house  of  Nicias. 
There  each  has  his  say  :  Epicureans,  Platonists,  all 
express  their  opinions ;  Nicias  alone  is   taken  to 


ANATOLE  FRANCE  221 

task  by  Paphnutius,  who  considers  his  eclectic  in- 
differentism  as  the  greatest  of  all  crimes.  "  You 
are  going  back  to  your  cell  to  wear  out  yoxxT  knees 
and  mortify  yourself,"  says  Nicias  to  him;  "I  am 
going  to  take  my  perfumed  bath,  and  be  dressed 
by  my  two  lovely  slaves,  Myrtale  and  Crotyle. 
Then  I  shall  eat  a  pheasant's  wing,  and  read  a  tale 
of  Apuleius.  You  see,  my  dear  Paphnutius,  how- 
ever opposed  we  may  seem  to  be,  we  each  seek 
happiness  ;  differently,  it  is  true,  but  happiness  is 
the  sole  object  of  our  search."  Paphnutius,  who 
has  quietly  listened  to  the  speeches  of  all  the  other 
philosophers,  grows  so  wroth  with  Nicias  that  he 
tries  to  tear  out  his  eyes.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
Nicias  is  the  owner  of  Thai's,  her  lessor,  in  a  word, 
and  Paphnutius  is  unconsciously  actuated  by  jeal- 
ousy and  the  other  feelings  which  Thai's  inspires 
in  him.  Nicias  replies  to  the  petulant  outbursts 
of  the  latter  by  expressing  a  wish  "  that  he  may 
keep  faithful  to  the  strength  of  his  convictions  as 
long  as  he  lives  !  "  and  Paphnutius  leads  Tha'i's 
away  through  the  desert.  The  rough  road  causing 
the  feet  of  the  courtesan  to  bleed,  her  guide  kneels 
down  and  kisses  this  martyr-blood.  They  arrive 
at  their  journey's  end  ;  Paphnutius  has  triumphed 
over  the  devil,  and  Thais  is  confided  to  the  care  of 
the  Abbess  Albina,  the  converted  daughter  of  one 
of  the  Csesars. 

Alas !  when  the  penitent  gets  back  into  his  cell, 
after  accomplishing  his  task,  he  fails  to  find  there 
the  peace  he  had  hoped  for ;  he  meets  instead  with 
temptations  and  moments  of  madness  more  desper- 
ate than  ever.     This  Tha'is,  whom  he  has  placed 


222  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

under  God's  care,  becomes  an  obsession  to  him! 
When  he  prays,  meditates,  scourges  himself,  every- 
where and  at  all  times,  it  is  she  who  is  before  his 
eyes.  His  cell,  instead  of  being  inhabited  by  one 
jackal,  is  now  filled  with  troops  of  them.  He 
mounts  on  the  top  of  a  pillar,  like  the  Stylite, 
and  exposes  himself  to  the  sun  and  wind  until  his 
whole  body  is  covered  with  ulcers.  Yet  the  Lord 
does  not  hear  him,  and  his  soul  remains  a  prey  to 
the  sharpest  attacks  of  the  Evil  One.  One  night, 
when  at  last  his  head  grows  bewildered,  his  con- 
science cries  out  to  him,  "Cease  this  obstinate 
persistence.  Jehovah  does  not  hear  thee  !  More- 
over, as  God  fills  everything.  He  cannot  move  for 
want  of  space  ;  if,  which  is  impossible,  He  were  to 
make  the  least  movement.  He  would  overthrow 
creation !  "  So,  then,  Paphnutius  thinks,  he  has 
supported  the  tortures  of  the  body,  the  revolt  of 
the  flesh,  ills,  maladies,  leprosies,  ulcers;  he  has 
held  out  against  all,  but  now,  —  and  here  comes  in 
the  irony,  —  now  it  is  ended ;  he  yields  !  Paphnu- 
tius sets  off,  and  reaches  the  convent  just  as  ThaVs, 
at  the  end  of  her  penance,  is  going  to  die,  and  the 
sisters  are  singing  her  glory,  which  is  about  to  be- 
gin. Maddened,  Paphnutius  throws  himself  on 
her,  and  presses  her  to  his  heart.  "  I  lied  to  you, 
Thais  ;  live,  let  us  be  happy  ;  there  is  no  Paradise  ; 
let  us  make  haste  and  enjoy  the  earth ;  all  the  rest 
is  deception."  But  he  comes  too  late ;  Thais  ex- 
pires, and  Paphnutius  leaves  the  convent  in  de- 
spair. The  reader  is  left  free  to  arrange  the 
future  destiny  of  the  monk,  henceforth  disillu- 
sioned, according  to  the  inclination   of   his  faith 


ANATOLE  FRANCE  223 

or  incredulity.  The  author  does  not  determine  it. 
Throughout  the  temptations  and  victories  of 
Paphnutius,  Anatole  France  lavishes  as  much  wit 
as  Voltaire  in  his  tales,  maintaining  at  the  same 
time  the  perspective  due  to  the  environment  of 
the  author,  and  to  an  epoch  in  which  the  monk  is 
no  longer  anything  but  an  archseological  document, 
having  no  longer  any  political  or  social  influence ! 
M.  France  makes  use  of  lightning  flashes  to  com- 
bat a  clerical  fortress  which  in  France  at  the 
present  time  possesses  little  but  the  consistence  of 
a  cloud  ! 

With  "  La  Rotisserie  de  la  Reine  Pedauque " 
we  change  both  environment  and  epoch,  but  the 
moral  outlook  is  the  same.  In  taking  from  Nicias 
the  high  philosophic  culture  which  he  has  in 
"Thais,"  and  in  making  him  descend  the  rounds 
of  the  social  ladder,  our  author  displays  the  same 
humor,  the  same  verve,  in  the  character  of  "  le 
Tournebroche  "  as  in  that  of  Nicias.  If  you  have 
present  before  your  minds  "  L'Embarquement  pour 
Cy there  "  of  Watteau,  with  its  nymphs,  prelates, 
bird-cages,  comedians,  princesses,  and  astrologers, 
arranged  in  a  fairy-like  scene,  you  will  have  an 
idea  of  the  medley  of  burgesses,  soothsayers,  sa- 
vants, courtesans,  abbots,  monks,  attorneys,  and 
populace,  placed  by  Anatole  France  before  our 
eyes  in  the  "  Reine  Pedauque." 

Jacques  Menetrier  (whose  name  and  ideas  recall 
Jacques  le  Fataliste  of  Diderot)  is  the  Paphnutius 
of  this  book,  as  d'Astarac,  the  alchemist,  is  its 
Nicias.  As  for  the  Abbe  Coignard,  he  expresses 
the  author's  own  thoughts,  with  explosions  of  mirth 


224  AN  AT  OLE  FRANCE 

that  find  their  justification  in  the  period  and  cir- 
cumstances wherein  Monsieur  France  has  set  his 
story.  Jacques  Menetrier,  who  acts  as  turnspit  to 
his  father  the  cook,  is  intrusted  when  quite  a  child 
to  the  care  of  the  Abbe  Jerome  Coignard,  himself 
the  secretary  of  the  astrologer  d'Astarac.  What 
with  the  Abbe,  who  rails  more  at  theology  than  at 
the  Scriptures,  and  is  yet  a  much  better  satirist 
than  a  fervent  Christian,  and  with  d'Astarac,  who 
believes  in  salamanders  and  mandragore,  Mene- 
trier furnishes  a  soil  sufficiently  neutralized  to  re- 
ceive all  paradoxes.  Amid  the  enchantments  which 
are  the  atmosphere  of  d'Astarac's  mind,  and  the 
scientific  teachings  of  the  Abbe  Coignard,  embel- 
lished also  with  the  help  of  Demoiselle  Catherine, 
the  mistress  of  each  in  general,  and  of  the  rich  old 
La  Gueritaude  in  particular,  all  sorts  of  astragals 
are  embroidered  :  whilst  Jacques  Menetrier  carries 
on  an  adventure  with  d'Astarac's  Jewish  mistress, 
which  ends  in  the  death  of  the  good  Coignard. 
The  beautiful  Jahel  is  the  niece  of  Mosaide,  an  old 
Jew,  whom  d'Astarac  keeps  in  his  pay  from  year 
to  year  to  explain  to  him  Hebrew  texts.  This 
Jahel  is  d'Astarac's  Salamander ;  but  as  there 
would  be  little  utility  in  being  Salamander  only 
in  name,  the  beautiful  Jahel  gradually  involves 
herself  in  numerous  intrigues,  which  she  endea- 
vors to  carry  out  simultaneously.  Meanwhile  her 
uncle,  Mosaide,  who  is  jealous  of  her,  gives  infor- 
mation to  the  Abbe  Coignard  as  being  the  lover 
in-chief,  and  afterward,  mistaking  his  man,  kills 
him. 

All  these  intrigues  and  confusions  of  person- 


ANATOLE  FRANCE  225 

ages,  in  which  we  see  a  revival  of  the  amalgams 
whose  secret  belonged  to  the  eighteenth  century- 
novels,  all  this  chaos  and  these  imbroglios,  have 
no  other  object  than  to  call  forth  the  discourses 
of  Coignard,  discourses  in  which  the  good  Abbe 
takes  care  that  the  merits  of  temporal  things 
shall  have  the  precedence  over  the  spiritual  in  the 
ecclesiastic  state.  Indeed,  he  has  no  great  opin- 
ion of  things  spiritual,  and  does  not  hesitate  to 
say  so.  "  The  Bible  in  the  hands  of  theologians," 
says  Jerome  Coignard,  "  has  become  a  manual  of 
errors,  a  library  of  absurdities,  a  storehouse  of 
stupidities,  a  cabinet  of  lies,  a  gallery  of  follies, 
a  grammar  school  of  ignorance,  a  museum  of 
nonsense,  and  the  furnitui-e  depository  of  human 
wickedness  and  imbecility.  They  have  made  Je- 
hovah an  ingenious  potter,  who  works  in  clay  in- 
stead of  in  fire.  We  men  are  nothing  but  animated 
bits  of  pottery,  and  to  tell  the  truth,  if  Jehovah, 
on  looking  at  his  work,  could  declare  himself  con- 
tent. He  was  not  very  hard  to  please."  Here,  in- 
deed, the  attack  is  an  open  one,  and  the  worst 
strokes  are  not  those  we  see  approaching.  The 
following  is  a  subtler  one,  and  more  after  our 
author's  manner.  "  Since  it  is  overcoming  which 
constitutes  merit,  we  must  recognize  that  it  is  con- 
cupiscence which  makes  saints.  Without  it  there 
is  no  repentance,  and  it  is  repentance  which  makes 
the  Christian.  If  the  blessed  Pelagia,  for  instance, 
had  not  practiced  prostitution,  she  would  never 
have  had  the  opportunity  to  practice  such  copious 
penitence  ;  whence  it  would  seem  to  foUow  that  in 
order  to  make  a  saint  a  foundation  of  very  big  sins 


226  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

is  necessary."  Here  we  have  something  like  the 
Kenan  of  the  "  Abbesse  de  Jouarre,"  and  the  Vol- 
taire of  the  "  Contes."  Next,  however,  to  so  much 
impulsive  wit  come  such  expressions  as  this  :  "  We 
must  possess  riches  without  riches  possessing  us." 
The  scene  in  which  the  Abbe  Coignard  on  his 
death-bed  is  awaiting  the  visit  of  the  village  cure, 
who  is  much  more  anxious  to  see  to  his  vine  than 
to  look  after  his  sick  parishioner,  rather  resembles 
one  taken  from  Balzac's  repertory,  and  is  all  the 
more  excellent  therefor.  "  The  barber  doctor  shook 
his  head,  and  pronounced  that  the  case  of  the 
Abbe  Coignard  was  hopeless.  The  cure  gave  a 
glance,  then  bethinking  himself,  remarked,  '  There 
is  still  time  to  go  to  my  vineyard.  It  might  rain  ; 
let  us  get  in  the  grapes ;  we  will  see  the  patient 
after.'  "  In  connection  with  this  book  I  have 
spoken  of  the  "  Embarquement  pour  Cythere  "  as 
illustrating  the  grouping  of  characters  and  the 
framework  of  the  story.  Wilhelm  Meister  and 
Gil  Bias  will  serve  to  give  an  idea  of  the  tangled 
melody  of  marvels  and  mysticisms,  of  religion  and 
absurdity,  which  so  eminently  characterizes  our 
author's  work,  "La  Rotisserie  de  la  Reine  Pe- 
dauque." 

"  La  Fille  de  Lilith  "  is  a  strange  story  of  beyond 
the  grave.  A  soul  from  hell  has  come  back  to 
earth,  and  a  new  Tannhaiiser  has  attached  himself 
to  her.  It  needs  all  the  exorcisms  of  the  Cure  Sa- 
f  rac  to  purify  this  penitent  from  his  intercourse  with 
the  new  Venus.  In  the  collection  entitled  "  Bal- 
thasar,"  Anatole  France  has  put  together  various 
fancifid  narrations,  of  which  one  of  the  most  dain- 


ANATOLE  FRANCE  227 

tily  told  is  this  tale  of  "  Balthasar,"  where  we  see 
the  magician  king  pass  through  all  the  phases  of 
the  most  passionate  love  for  the  Queen  of  Sheba ; 
then  tired  out,  and  finding  he  did  not  get  the  better 
of  this  passion  she  inspired  in  him,  we  see  him 
devote  himself  to  science  and  astronomy,  even  to 
the  point  of  entirely  forgetting  the  queen.  When, 
piqued  by  the  disdain  of  her  former  lover,  she 
comes  at  last  to  try  to  win  him  back  again,  he 
is  absorbed  and  only  quits  his  scientific  preoccu- 
pations to  follow  the  shepherds  to  the  cradle  at 
Bethlehem.  In  the  "  QEuf  rouge  "  the  marvelous 
is  replaced  by  suggestion.  An  unfortunate  man 
having  read  that,  at  the  birth  of  the  Emperor 
Severus,  a  red  egg  was  foimd  in  a  nest,  fancies  he 
is  an  emperor  because  a  similar  egg  has  been 
foimd  in  his  farmyard.  With  the  exception,  how- 
ever, of  the  "CEuf  rouge,"  in  which  the  melan- 
choly of  the  story  belongs  rather  to  the  subject, 
the  phantoms,  ghosts,  and  wandering  spirits  of 
Anatole  France  have  more  of  the  sarcastic  about 
them,  and  nothing  of  the  ghastly.  They  are  phan- 
toms treated  after  the  manner  of  Merimee. 

Contrasts  in  the  quality  of  the  inspiration  are, 
moreover,  one  of  the  particular  features  of  France's 
writing.  For  instance,  there  is  nothing  more  un- 
like, in  the  work  of  our  author,  than  "  Le  Crime 
de  Sylvestre  Bonnard "  and  "  Le  Livre  de  mon 
Ami,"  compared  with  "  La  Reine  Pedauque  "  and 
*'  Tha'is."  "  Le  Livre  de  mon  Ami  "  is  the  very 
essence  of  moral  grace,  with  sallies  of  irony  abso- 
lutely free  from  bitterness.  Sylvestre  Bonnard 
is  the  simple  savant^  the  being  whose  superior  cul- 


228  AN  AT  OLE  FRANCE 

ture  has  rendered  him  affectionate,  whose  heart  has 
been  enlarged  by  literature,  whose  feelings  have 
been  softened  by  it.  He  is  the  ideal  of  the  man 
of  science.  The  diversity  of  France's  talent  is  one 
of  its  charms.  When  we  see  him  as  critic,  for 
instance,  cut  up  Georges  Ohnet,  or  some  other 
contemporary,  with  the  sjsirit  and  verve  we  know 
so  well,  an  amazement  seizes  us  as  we  remember 
that  this  same  brain  has  written  "  Thai's  "  as  well 
as  the  sweet,  delightful  pages  of  "  Sylvestre  Bon- 
nard."  The  literary  criticism  of  our  author  pos- 
sesses another  merit,  and  that  a  rare  one  ;  it  is 
impartial,  so  far  that  it  lashes  and  strikes  only 
mediocrity.  A  proof  of  this  is  seen  in  the  appre- 
ciations and  judgments  he  passes  on  Villiers  de 
I'lsle  Adam,  and  on  other  of  the  "  irregulars  "  of 
modern  French  literature,  whom  he  certainly  does 
not  praise  through  inclination,  but  because  their 
talent  impresses  him,  and  because  he  is,  above  all, 
too  much  of  an  artist  not  to  celebrate  talent,  even 
though  it  be  not  just  of  the  kind  he  cultivates 
himself. 


"  Le  Crime  de  Sylvestre  Bonnard  "  is  not  a 
novel.  Can  a  book  be  called  thus,  in  which  love 
plays  no  part,  and  in  which  the  gamut  of  the 
heart's  feeling  and  passion  is  rejilaced  by  the  story 
of  the  forgetfulnesses,  omissions,  and  childishnesses 
of  a  savant,  who  is  the  most  learned  of  archaeolo- 
gists, and  the  most  affectionate  of  men  ?  Amidst 
all  rivalries  and  the  struggles  necessary  to  a  career, 
as  also  in  the  enjoyment  of  satisfied  ambition,  Syl- 


ANATOLE  FRANCE  229 

vestre  Bonnard  has  kept  green  the  remembrance 
of  Clementine,  the  woman  he  once  adored,  and 
who  preferred  to  him  a  husband  of  larger  fortune. 
Fifteen  years  after  Clementine's  death,  a  chance 
encounter  briug's  Bonnard  face  to  face  with  her 
daughter  in  Monsieur  de  Gabry's  library,  whither 
he  has  been  summoned  to  classify  the  books.  The 
savant  at  once  conceives  a  fatherly  attachment  for 
Jeanne  Alexandre,  —  such  is  the  girl's  name,  — 
and  wishes  to  adopt  her.  But  Jeanne  already  has 
a  guardian  in  the  person  of  a  maUre,  Mouche,  who 
opposes  the  plan.  Bonnard  possesses  a  marvelous 
collection  of  old  books  and  extraordinary  missals, 
which  he  has  sought  out  far  and  wide,  even  to 
Naples.  All  these  marvels  he  intends  to  bequeath 
to  this  child,  and  henceforth  his  only  thought  is  to 
devote  himself  to  her.  His  heart,  which  has  re- 
mained young  and  loving,  concentrates  itself  on 
Jeanne,  whom  he  looks  upon  as  his  daughter  ;  but 
all  he  can  obtain  from  the  guardian  is  that  Jeanne 
shall  come  to  see  him  from  time  to  time,  accom- 
panied by  Mademoiselle  Prefere,  her  schoolmistress. 
The  entry  of  this  latter  lady  into  the  life  of  Bon- 
nard is  an  unlucky  event.  "  Mademoiselle  Prefere 
walked  on  the  polished  floor  with  clasped  hands, 
like  the  saints  of  the  Golden  Legend  on  the  crys- 
tal water  ;  her  face  reminded  one  of  a  preserved 
rennet  apple  ;  round  her  shoulders  was  a  fringed 
cape,  which  she  wore  as  if  it  were  a  sacerdotal 
vestment,  or  the  insignia  of  some  high  civic  func- 
tion. She  walked  without  moving  her  legs ;  spoke 
without  opening  her  lips."  Mademoiselle  Prefere 
takes  in  the  situation,  and  makes  up  her  mind  to 


230  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

marry  Monsieur  Bonnard.  One  day  while  Jeanne 
is  busied  in  the  examination  of  an  old  colored 
missal,  Mademoiselle  Prefere,  who  is  seated  near 
the  savant,  opens  her  batteries.  "  You  need  some 
one  to  take  care  of  you,  Monsieur  Bonnard.  There 
is  no  woman  who  would  not  be  proud  to  bear  your 
name  and  share  your  fortune.  I  am  a  woman, 
Monsieur  Bonnard,  and  my  instinct  does  not  de- 
ceive me.  I  feel  that  you  would  find  happiness  in 
marriage.  Your  health,  you  see,  needs  some  one 
to  be  always  at  hand  to  look  after  it.  The  health 
of  a  Member  of  the  Institute  !  Why,  I  would 
give  my  life  to  preserve  the  life  of  a  savant ;  and 
I  should  despise  any  woman  who  would  not  do  the 
same !  "  As  Bonnard  is  a  patient  man  he  does 
not  like  to  hurt  her  feelings,  and  allows  matters  to 
reach  a  crisis.  One  day  Mademoiselle  Prefere 
secures  Bonnard  to  dinner,  taking  the  precaution 
also  to  get  Monsieur  Mouche  as  witness  of  what 
happens.  No  sooner  is  the  dinner  over  than  the 
lady  exclaims,  with  a  glance  toward  Mouche,  "  Mon- 
sieur Bonnard  is  so  noble !  so  generous !  so  admira- 
ble !  .  .  .  a  simple  woman  like  me  dare  not  repeat 
the  words  I  have  heard  from  him  !  "  Thereupon, 
Mouche  congratulates  Bonnard  .  .  .  and  the  sa- 
vant, who  is  at  his  wits'  end,  sees  himself  obliged, 
under  penalty  of  being  married  in  spite  of  himself, 
to  make  an  energetic  defense.  "  Terror  lent  me 
courage,"  cried  Bonnard,  when  relating  his  history: 
"  I  flatly  declared  to  Mademoiselle  Prefere  that 
my  intention  not  to  marry  was  unalterable  ;  and 
with  that  I  fled  into  the  street." 

The  poor  little  Jeanne  is  the  one  to  suffer  for 


A  NAT  OLE  FRANCE  231 

her  friend's  rejection  of  the  schoolmistress.  She 
is  hidden  away  by  the  latter,  and  for  long  months 
all  Bonnard's  efforts  to  see  her  fail.  Like  Oliver 
Twist  and  Nicholas  Nickleby,  her  literary  compan- 
ions in  misfortune,  the  unhappy  Jeanne  is  reduced 
to  sweep  the  passages  and  do  the  cooking.  At 
last,  Bonnard,  whose  anxiety  can  no  longer  contain 
itself,  pays  a  visit  to  Mademoiselle  Preiere's  ser- 
vant, and  bribes  her  to  bring  Jeanne  to  him,  and 
this  constitutes  the  Crime  of  Sylvestre  Bonnard,  a 
crime  falling  under  the  application  of  the  criminal 
code,  to  wit,  the  abduction  of  a  minor.  Fortu- 
nately, the  dishonest  guardian,  Mouche,  has  ab- 
sconded, and  Bonnard  becomes  Jeanne's  guardian 
and  adoptive  father,  which  latter  title,  owing  to 
Jeanne's  marriage,  he  soon  after  exchanges  for  that 
of  grandfather.     Such  is  the  issue  of  his  crime. 

In  this  book,  where  none  but  the  most  delicate 
sentiments  are  expressed,  France's  humor,  never- 
theless, crops  out  occasionally.  "  Therese,  my  cra- 
vat !  [It  is  one  of  the  days  when  Bonnard  is  going 
to  see  Jeanne.]  Therese,  my  cravat !  You  are 
forgetting  it  is  the  first  Thursday  in  June,  and 
Mademoiselle  Jeanne  will  be  expecting  me.  The 
mistress  has,  no  doubt,  had  the  floor  waxed :  I  am 
sure  they  look  at  their  faces  in  it ;  one  of  these 
days  I  shall  break  my  legs  on  it.  Just  see  the 
beautiful  sun,  Therese  !  The  quays  are  all  gilded 
by  it ;  the  Seine  smiles  in  a  thousand  sparkling 
ripples  ;  the  town  itself  seems  of  gold.  .  .  .  The- 
rese, my  cravat !  Ah  !  I  can  understand  now  the 
good  man  Chrysal  putting  his  neck-bands  in  a  big 
Plutarch.  .  .  .  Henceforth   I  wiU  put  my  cravat 


232  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

in  the  Acta  Sanctorum  I  "  This  torrent  of  words, 
this  flow  of  youth  which  the  old  man  feels  in  the 
joy  of  his  anticipated  visit  to  Jeanne,  is  at  once 
charming  and  true  to  life.  Another  time  it  is  a 
lucky  find  in  a  library  which  calls  forth  the  joy  of 
the  savant.  "  After  having  read  fourteen  pages 
of  my  Cartulary,'''  writes  Bonnard,  "  I  plunged 
my  hand  into  my  gaping  pocket  and  drew  forth 
my  snuff-box,  a  movement  which  cost  me  some  ef- 
fort. I  extracted  a  few  grains  from  the  silver  box, 
grains  whereat  my  nose  manifested  its  joy.  I  had 
just  discovered,  under  the  very  eyes  of  my  colleague 
Brioux,  the  CaHxilary  of  Notre  Dame  des  Anges, 
which  he  had  allowed  to  escape  him !  " 

The  perusal  of  "  Sylvestre  Bonnard,"  of  "  Le 
Livre  de  mon  Ami,"  and  of  "  Thai's  "  will  readily 
convince  the  reader  that  in  Anatole  France  there 
are  two  distinct  natures,  one  of  which  draws  its 
inspiration  from  the  ironies  of  its  verve,  while  the 
other,  which  remains  affectionate  and  mildly  philo- 
sophic, regards  with  gracious  eyes  the  passage  of 
men  and  things  without  either  embellishing  or  dis- 
figuring them,  albeit  with  a  good  humor  that  indi- 
cates the  perfect  equilibrium  of  the  writer.  There 
are  whiffs  of  Montaigne,  also,  in  France's  talent. 
"  Le  Livre  de  mon  Ami  "  might  as  well  be  called 
an  autobiography,  for  one  feels  it  is  the  childhood 
and  youth  of  the  author  as  related  by  himself.  "  I 
am  halfway  along  the  road  of  life,"  says  the  au- 
thor at  the  outset  of  his  book  ;  " '  nel  mezzo  del 
cammin  di  nostra  vita.'  On  the  hypothesis  that 
the  way  was  equal  for  all  and  led  towards  old  age,  I 
knew  twenty  years  ago  that  I  should  have  to  reach 


ANATOLE  FRANCE  233 

this  point ;  I  knew  it,  but  I  did  not  feel  it.  Now 
that  I  have  climbed  the  hill,  I  turn  my  head  in 
order  to  get  a  view  of  all  the  distance  I  have  come, 
and  I  would  willingly  pass  the  night  so,  in  calling 
up  phantoms.  I  no  longer  have  confidence  in  my 
friend,  life,  but  I  love  her  still." 

The  very  first  years  of  existence,  the  years  in 
which  the  intelligence  can  scarcely  be  said  to  be 
awake,  are  evoked  by  France  in  this  book,  in  such 
a  way  that  we  are  astonished  at  the  vigor  and  viva- 
city, revealed  at  a  time  when,  as  a  rule,  all  is  obli- 
vion. "  My  going  to  bed,"  he  tells  us,  "  was  quite 
an  undertaking ;  it  needed  su23plications,  tears, 
kisses,  without  yet  the  object  being  achieved.  I 
would  escape  on  the  way,  and  begin  jumping  about 
like  a  rabbit ;  my  mother  then  caught  me  again 
under  some  piece  of  furniture  and  put  me  in  bed. 
It  was  very  amusing.  I  was  no  sooner  lain  down 
than  I  found  before  my  eyes  numbers  of  people  I 
had  never  met  with  in  my  family.  They  had  noses 
like  a  stork's  beak,  bristling  mustaches,  pointed 
bellies,  and  legs  like  those  of  a  cock.  They  showed 
themselves  sideface  with  a  round  eye  in  the  middle 
of  their  cheeks  ;  and  along  they  passed  one  after 
another,  carrying  brooms,  spits,  syringes,  and  gui- 
tars. Being  so  ugly,  they  ought  not  to  have  shown 
themselves  at  all ;  but  I  will  do  them  the  justice 
to  say  that  they  glided  silently  along  the  wall,  and 
that  none  of  them,  not  even  the  last,  ever  came  near 
my  bed."  It  will  be  understood  that  these  per- 
sonages were  no  other  than  the  figures  de  callot^ 
which  the  child  saw  during  his  walks  with  his 
nurse,  and  which  with  their  grotesque  forms  had 
engraved  themselves  on  his  mind. 


234  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

A  little  later  on,  tlie  puppets  of  tlie  fancy  vanish 
and  give  place  to  living  physiognomies :  "  the  black 
lady,"  "  the  white  lady,"  —  thus  had  the  child  named 
the  tenants  of  the  same  house,  who  used  to  make  a 
great  deal  of  him  each  in  her  own  way.  "  As  soon 
as  I  arrived,"  writes  France,  "  I  fell  into  ecstasy  in 
presence  of  two  Chinese  idols  placed  on  either  side 
of  the  clock  on  the  chimney-piece.  They  wagged 
their  heads  and  put  out  their  tongues  in  a  most 
marvelous  manner,  and  when  I  heard  that  they  came 
from  China  I  resolved  to  go  there.  I  was  sure  that 
it  was  somewhere  behind  the  Arc  de  Triomphe,  and 
determined  to  make  my  honne  take  me  ;  but  my 
project  failed."  Farther  on :  "  I  could  not  suffer  to 
meet  other  people  where  I  was  admitted  as  a  privi- 
leged person.  I  wanted  to  be  alone  received  in  the 
drawing-room,  where  the  '  magots '  were.  One  day 
I  saw  there  a  gentleman  sitting  on  my  small  couch, 
which  displeased  and  irritated  me,  so  that  in  my 
vexation,  being  determined  to  draw  attention  to 
myself,  I  asked  for  some  sugar  and  water,  and 
grew  ferociously  angry  on  hearing  the  gentleman 
remark,  '  He  must  be  an  only  child.  He  seems  so 
much  spoiled.'  That  day  I  left  without  kissing  the 
white  lady,  as  a  punishment  for  her.  Another  time, 
the  white  lady  desiring  to  remain  alone  with  the 
same  gentleman,  I  was  sent  into  the  dining-room, 
where  I  had  for  amusement  nothing  but  a  picture 
clock,  which  struck  only  the  hours.  It  was  a  long 
hour.  The  cook  came  and  gave  me  some  jam, 
which  for  a  moment  relieved  the  grief  of  my  heart. 
But  when  the  jam  was  all  gone,  my  grief  returned. 

...  I  flattened  my  nose  against  the  window,  I 


ANATOLE  FRANCE  235 

pulled  the  horsehair  out  of  the  chairs,  I  made  the 
holes  in  the  wall-paper  larger,  I  plucked  out  the 
fringe  of  the  curtain  ;  and  at  last,  when  I  was 
bored  to  death,  I  raised  myself  to  the  knob  of  the 
door.  I  knew  I  was  doing  an  indiscreet,  a  bad 
action,  but  I  opened  the  door,  and  there  I  found 
the  white  lady  standing  against  the  chimney-piece, 
while  the  gentleman,  on  his  knees  at  her  feet,  was 
opening  his  arms  wide  to  embrace  her.  He  was 
redder  than  a  cockscomb,  and  his  eyes  seemed 
starting  out  of  their  sockets.  The  lady  said  :  '  Let 
there  be  an  end  of  this,  sir.'  He  rose  when  he  saw 
me,  and  I  think  he  wanted  to  throw  me  out  of  the 
window.  When  the  lady  in  black  came  in,  the 
white  lady  said, '  Monsieur  Arnoux  called,  but  only 
stayed  a  second.'  The  lady's  good  genius  inspired 
me  to  hold  my  tongue,  for  I  was  going  to  cry  out 
'  What  a  lie !  the  gentleman  stayed  a  very  long 
time.'" 

The  author  adds  this  profoundly  human  reflec- 
tion :  "  I  was  astonished  when  a  child  at  the  ab- 
surdity of  grown-up  people.  My  mother  said  to 
me  that  she  had  cried  as  she  listened  to  the  '  En- 
fants  d'Edouard.'  I  replied  that  Casimir  Dela- 
vigne  must  be  very  wicked  to  make  her  cry,  where- 
upon she  answered  that  it  was  all  a  matter  oi  feel- 
ing and  talent.  ...  I  failed  to  understand  what 
she  meant ;  ...  at  four  years  of  age  it  is  difficult 
to  comprehend  the  sweetness  of  tears."  When  he 
was  a  little  older,  his  school-mistress,  Mademoiselle 
Lefort,  equally  failed  to  understand  him.  "  Made- 
moiselle Lefort,"  he  says,  "  was  giving  us,  as  dicta- 
tion, a  story  of  her  own  invention,  entitled  '  Jane, 


236  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

tlie  Scotchwoman.'  Jane  died  the  day  of  her  mar- 
riage. The  emotion  from  which  I  saw  Mademoi- 
selle Lefort  suffering  affected  me  in  turn  and  I 
began  to  cry.  '  You  are  a  very  intelligent  child,' 
she  said  to  me,  '  and  you  shall  have  the  cross  of 
honor.'  Unfortunately  I  added  :  '  I  am  pleased, 
mademoiselle,  to  know  you  are  sad  on  account  of 
Jane's  fate,  and  that  that  is  why  you  don't  pay  at- 
tention to  the  class  in  dictating  to  us.'  .  .  .  '  Jane 
is  only  a  story,'  answered  Mademoiselle  Lefort, 
curtly,  '  and  you  are  a  fool ;  give  me  back  your 
cross.'  "  This  eight-year-old  naivete  is  not  the  only 
instance  of  its  kind.  Here  is  a  piquant  incident 
of  his  boyhood.  Madame  Gance,  a  pianist,  whose 
artistic  power  was  equaled  only  by  her  beauty,  had 
been  playing  before  the  young  collegian,  and  had 
thrown  him  into  raptures.  She  addressed  the  young 
man  and  asked  him  if  he  would  like  to  hear  her 
again  ;  but  Anatole's  emotion  was  so  great  that  he 
completely  lost  his  head  and  answered,  "  Yes,  sir." 
This  anecdote  has  an  epilogue.  Long  years  after, 
the  whilom  collegian  met  the  heroine  of  this  inci- 
dent, and  spoke  to  her  of  her  successes  as  an  artiste 
and  as  a  woman.  She  said,  "  No  success  has  ever 
been  so  dear  to  me  as  the  homage  of  a  collegian, 
whose  confusion  was  so  real  that  he  replied  to  a 
question  of  mine  with  a  '  yes,  sir.'  "  This  is  a  story 
which,  adorned  as  it  is  by  the  merits  of  France's 
pen,  is  really  dangerous  for  timid  people.  It  is  so 
daintily  related  that  even  the  most  awkward  would 
derive  from  it  an  excuse  for,  and  almost  an  encour- 
agement to,  their  weakness. 

I  cannot  quote  all  the  "  Livre  de  mon  Ami,"  and 


ANATOLE  FRANCE  237 

I  regret  it,  for  tliis  book  is  the  reader's  friend. 
It  is  a  living  book  made  out  of  the  human  im- 
pulses of  the  heart,  just  at  the  moment  when  the 
heart  is  the  most  worthy  of  interest,  because  policy 
and  compromise  have  not  yet  enslaved  it  to  villain- 
ous artifices.  Anatole  France,  the  critic,  is  per- 
ceptible beneath  the  ironist  of  "  Thais  "  and  the 
"  Rotisserie."  His  smile  glances,  indeed,  from 
time  to  time  athwart  the  web  of  the  "  Livre  de 
mon  Ami,"  also,  but  veiled  and  softened.  It  is  in 
"  La  Vie  litteraire  "  that  this  smile  asserts  itself, 
and  that  our  author,  with  a  something  that  distin- 
guishes him  from  the  indifferentism  of  Montaigne, 
and  with  a  touch  that  recalls  Beaumarchais,  allows 
his  titillating  pen  to  pass  backward  and  forward 
beneath  the  nostrils  of  his  victims  in  a  manner  un- 
rivaled for  its  dexterity. 


For  many  years  now,  Anatole  France  has  con- 
tributed weekly  to  the  "  Temps,"  a  literary  chron- 
icle of  men  and  books.  In  these  articles  some  of 
his  epithets  are  most  happily  conceived  ;  as,  for 
instance,  where  he  calls  Villiers  de  I'lsle  Adam  ^ 
"  the  dilettante  of  mysticism  ;  "  Barbey  d'Aurevilly 
"  the  confessor  by  impiety ;  "  Edouard  Rod  "  an 
intuitivist ;  "  Jean  Moreas  "  the  Ronsard  of  the 
Chat  Noir."  All  these  men  are  equally  unknown 
to  the  English  reader,  but  they  are  requisite  here 
as   indicating   the    open  -  mindedness    of   Anatole 

1  Villiers  de  I'Isle  Adam,  who  wrote  Contes  Cruels,  was  one 
of  the  leaders  of  the  "  Jeunes,"  and  remains  the  idol  of  this 
school. 


238  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

France's  judgments,  his  good  will  in  appreciating 
even  those  who  are  not  academicians,  even  those 
who  are  the  sharpshooters  of  modern  literature. 
Our  author's  verve  is  boundless,  and,  once  fairly- 
started,  he  has  everything  his  own  way.  He  knows 
how  to  put  into  the  movement  of  his  story  as  much 
art  as  he  puts  into  the  arrangement  of  the  various 
tones  and  the  weighing  of  epithets.  In  the  case  of 
Anatole  France,  when  speaking  to  a  foreign  audi- 
ence it  is  an  effort  to  limit  one's  quotations,  every 
line  of  his  is  so  thoroughly  French.  The  sixteenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries  gave  our  country  the  most 
French  of  our  writers,  Rabelais  and  Montaigne, 
who  are  much  more  the  ancestors  of  Diderot  and 
Voltaire  than  are  Descartes  or  Pascal,  especially 
the  latter.  In  like  manner,  Anatole  France  is  in- 
tellectually a  child  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and 
traces  back  his  origin  through  the  Abbe  Prevost 
and  Lesage  to  Montaigne  and  Rabelais. 

If  it  may  be  said  of  Brunetiere  that  he  is  the 
Bonaparte  of  our  criticism,  of  Lemaitre  that  he  is  its 
Mazarin  for  penetration  and  subtlety,  one  may  say 
of  Anatole  France,  neglecting  examples  of  states- 
men in  the  comparison,  that  he  is  the  Voltaire  of  his 
epoch,  a  Voltaire  whose  philosophy  is  to  be  felt  in 
his  fanciful  writings,  a  Voltaire  whose  verve  breaks 
out  in  his  nouvelles  and  criticisms,  a  Voltaire  with- 
out a  Frederick ;  and  yet  who  knows  ?  Perhaps 
one  would  not  have  to  seek  far  among  the  corre- 
spondents of  our  author  in  order  to  find  the  intel- 
lectual small-change  of  the  King  of  Prussia. 


MADAME    BLANC    BENTZON    AS   A 
KOMANCE  WRITER 


If  woman,  equally  with  man,  has  not  always 
the  temperament  of  her  talent,  it  may  so  happen 
that  she  has  the  talent  of  her  temperament.  Such 
is  the  case  with  Madame  Blanc  Bentzon.  The 
heroines  of  her  novels  possess  for  the  most  part, 
as  their  share,  an  energy  and  a  courage  which  they 
seem  to  hold  from  the  woman  who,  by  the  effective 
exploration  of  America  two  years  ago,  closed  a 
parenthesis  she  had  opened  with  reference  to  the 
genius  of  the  American  nation,  when  first  she 
began  to  write. 

Madame  Blanc  has  had  the  rare  courage  to  earn 
a  place  for  herself  in  the  literary  world  with  no 
other  aid  than  her  own  merit.  Her  writings  are 
both  numerous  and  important,  and  contain  as  large 
a  proportion  of  critical  work  as  of  fiction.  To 
her  the  French  owe  their  acquaintance  with  Bret 
Harte,  Aldrich,  Hawthorne,  in  short,  with  all 
America's  interesting  writers  during  the  last 
twenty-five  years.  It  wiU  not  be  one  of  her  least 
merits  in  the  eyes  of  foreigners,  who  are  pleased 
to  reproach  us  with  the  immorality  of  our  novels, 
—  it  will  not  be  one  of  her  least  merits  that  she 
has  but  rarely  introduced  adultery  into  her  books, 


240  MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON 

and  that  she  has  made  use  of  it,  for  instance,  in 
"  La  Vocation  de  Louise  "  and  in  "  Jacqueline  " 
only  as  the  agent  of  all  the  catastrophes  which  fol- 
low. One  of  Madame  Blanc's  chief  charms,  too, 
in  our  eyes,  is  that  her  literary  children  are  her 
own  likeness,  and  that  Constance,  Louise,  Juliette 
evince  and  assert  the  same  energy  of  will  at  the 
dawn  of  their  troubles  as  their  author  herself 
showed  when  she  started  in  life,  fronting,  while 
still  almost  a  child,  though  married,  struggles 
from  which  men  oft  come  back  defeated. 

If  Madame  de  Lafayette,  in  the  "  Princesse  de 
Cleves,"  and  Madame  de  Stael,  in  "Delphine," 
gave  their  own  souls  to  their  heroines,  the  author 
of  "  Jacqueline  "  will  be  easily  recognized  by  her 
friends  at  certain  outbursts  of  Jacqueline  on  free- 
dom and  self-assertion.  It  is  evidently  the  author 
who  speaks  when  Jacqueline  at  her  first  contact 
with  difficulties  exclaims,  "  People  in  society  who 
pity  me  are  strangely  mistaken  ;  in  their  empty 
frivolity  they  have  no  notion  of  the  joy  experi- 
enced by  a  valiant  young  heart  in  trying  its  own 
strength."  In  Tony,  in  Jacqueline,  and  in  other  of 
her  types  of  character,  Madame  Blanc  has  exposed 
her  love  for  the  industrious  girl,  the  heroine  of 
work,  who  turns  her  back  on  luxury,  and  prefers 
the  bread  she  has  earned  to  any  gilded  cage. 

The  material  energy  we  see  displayed  by  Lucette 
and  by  Jacqueline,  in  their  efforts  to  escape  from 
the  tyranny  of  facts,  shows  itself  again  in  the  moral 
sphere  in  other  daughters  of  our  author's  brain. 
In  Constance,  in  Juliette,  in  Elsbeth,  in  Rosine, 
we  see  minds  that  no  inward  torture  has  power 


MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON  241 

to  tui-n  back  from  the  path  leading  them  to  the 
achievement  of  their  duty's  fair  ideal.  Elsbeth 
does  not  recoil  even  from  suicide.  Feeling  unable 
to  tear  herself  alive  from  the  man  she  adores,  she 
kills  herself  in  order  to  restore  to  him  his  first 
wife ;  for,  friend  and  admirer  of  George  Sand  ^ 
though  she  was,  Madame  Blanc  does  not  approve 
of  divorce.  She  is  silent  as  to  its  legal  advan- 
tages, and  persistently  dwells  on  its  inconveniences. 
Energy  and  force,  such  are  the  individual  elements 
of  our  author's  mind,  which  stand  out  most  promi- 
nently in  her  creations  and  show  themselves  espe- 
cially by  the  exuberance  and  vitality  of  her  hero- 
ines. 

In  his  discriminating  and  subtle  study  on  Ma- 
dame Sand,  Professor  Marillier  says  with  justice : 
"  She  had,  above  all,  from  childhood  an  imperious 
need  of  loving."  We  may  add,  if  tenderness  is 
the  imperative  of  Madame  Sand,  action  is  the  im- 
perative of  Madame  Blanc.  "  To  act,"  "  to  affirm 
herself,"  "to  live  her  own  life,"  at  ten  years  of 
age  to  make  the  nuns  of  St.  Odile  understand  that 
she  has  a  heart  which  cherishes  certain  sentiments 
and  rejects  certain  others,  —  these  are  the  quali- 
ties in  Juliette  de  Brevent,  the  heroine  of  "  Vie 
manquee,"  which  indicate  to  the  reader  the  tend- 
encies of  the  writer's  mind.  Again,  also,  when 
from  Marguerite  de  Valouze's  lips  comes  the  gen- 
erous avowal  of  the  superiority  of  Zina's  love 
over  her  own,  it  is  somewhat  of  the  author's  own 

1  Madame  Blanc  used  to  visit  Nohant,  and,  when  still  quite 
young,  received  the  baptism  of  letters  from  the  hands  of 
Madame  Sand  herself. 


242  MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON 

heart  which  is  delivered  to  the  public.  Such  liter- 
ary treatment  is,  in  fine,  real  woman's  work ;  it  is 
to  write  out  of  the  fullness  of  her  experiences,  suf- 
ferings, and  struggles  ;  it  is  to  write  with  the  in- 
tent of  applying  to  the  hearts  of  her  creations  the 
benefit  of  the  teaching  she  has  herself  received 
from  life.  Hence  it  comes  that  Madame  Blanc's 
novels,  into  which  psychology  enters  largely,  are 
more  especially  "  moralist "  novels,  the  moral  life 
in  them  having  a  marked  preponderance,  and  the 
soul's  aspirations  toward  a  higher  plane  being 
strongly  maintained.  The  conflicts  in  Rosine's 
mind  and  in  Juliette's  assume  an  intensity  that 
make  them  resemble  some  of  Corneille's  heroes  and 
heroines,  all  the  more  so  that  such  conflicts  always 
end  in  the  confusion  of  interest  and  the  triumph 
of  the  higher  call. 

Another  of  our  author's  characteristics  is  that  she 
avoids  fitting  her  novels  to  a  theory,  and  does  not 
mistake  the  novel  for  the  pamphlet,  as  Zola  does, 
for  instance,  in  "  Rome,"  which  has  liberal  Catho- 
licism as  its  subject,  and  in  "  L' Argent,"  which 
treats  of  the  seamy  side  of  the  Bourse.  It  is  right 
to  add,  moreover,  that  in  this  order  of  ideas,  if  it 
were  a  question  of  procuring  information  with  re- 
gard to  the  "  bete  humaine  "  or  the  "  ventre  de 
Paris,"  woman  novelists  would  be  always  inferior 
to  men.  It  needs  a  Rosa  Bonheur  to  plunge  into 
the  mire  up  to  the  ankles. 

Psychology  has  its  place  in  Madame  Blanc's 
novels,  but  it  is  not  aggressive,  a  result,  we  believe, 
ensuing  from  the  author's  most  philosophic  con- 
clusion of  the  inanity  of   human  deductions,  and 


MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON  243 

also  from  the  conviction  that  it  is  the  unforeseen 
which  is  paramount  in  the  world.  Of  what  use, 
then,  are  schools  of  psychology,  tables  of  mental 
atavism,  and  the  whole  arsenal  of  moral  and  other 
heredities,  since  it  is  nearly  always  the  unexpected 
contingency  which  decides  ?  Now,  oddly  enough, 
these  atavisms,  to  which  she  attributes  so  little  im- 
portance in  her  writing,  have  imposed  themselves, 
so  to  speak,  upon  her  without  her  knowledge.  The 
divers  currents  of  foreign  races  that  meet  in  her 
have  produced  in  her  a  faculty  of  cosmopolitanism 
rare  in  France.  Owing  to  this  intuition  she  has 
been  able  to  depict  Russian  and  German  women 
with  greater  truth  than  any  other  writer ;  more- 
over, socially  speaking,  she  is  acquainted  with 
every  kind  of  society,  a  circumstance  which  places 
her  beyond  the  risk  of  committing  solecisms. 

Allied  by  her  family  to  the  old  French  aristo- 
cracy,^ she  grew  up  amid  the  relics  of  the  ancient 
order  of  things,  and  came  thus  to  know  and  de- 
scribe provincial  and  rural  forms  of  life  that  will 
definitely  disappear  with  those  who  already  speak 
of  them  as  antiquities.  In  "  Parrain  d' Annette  " 
and  in  "  Tony,"  the  descriptions  of  Madame  de 
Kernor's  house  and  Lucette  d'Arman^on's  home 
are  stamped  with  an  exceptional  truthfulness, 
which,  indeed,  cannot  be  attained,  or,  if  attained,  is 
exaggerated,  by  a  writer  who  describes  such  things 
without  an  intimate  personal  knowledge  of  them. 

Although  Madame  Sand's  literary  career,  which 
began  in  moral  revolt  against  society,  ended  in  the 

^  The  Count  d'Aure,  squire  to  the  Duchess  de  Berry,  was 
her  father-in-law. 


244  MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON 

far-fetched  dissertations  of  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Quiutinie,  the  lyrical  novel  was  not  yet  entirely 
dethroned  by  the  novel  based  on  statistics  when 
Madame  Blanc  began  writing.  As  late  as  1872 
Octave  Feuillet  possessed  the  monopoly  of  the 
novel  of  society  psychology,  and  the  place  Ma- 
dame Blanc  was  going  to  take  was  beside  Feuillet ; 
being,  however,  more  eclectic,  perhaps,  for  the 
reasons  I  have  pointed  out  above,  reasons  which 
show  her  to  be  a  unique  writer  among  her  contem- 
poraries. 

Gifted  with  all  the  personal  attractions  which, 
without  making  any  real  addition  to  a  woman's  wit 
and  intelligence,  show  off  her  merit  to  advantage, 
Madame  Blanc,  from  her  first  appearance  in  soci- 
ety, received  the  worship  and  homage  of  the  most 
eminent  artists.  Amaury  Duval  and  Henri  Re- 
gnault  sketched  fine  portraits  of  her,  and  her  salon 
was  no  sooner  formed  than  it  became  what  it  has 
since  remained,  —  the  rendezvous  for  all  those  who 
possess  true  worth  in  the  domain  of  thought  and 
art. 

The  individual  and  the  author  are  always  two 
distinct  beings,  more  especially  so  when  the  author 
is  a  woman.  Any  disclosure  relating  to  private 
life  is  an  indiscretion ;  and  yet  how  is  it  possible 
to  pass  by  such  an  example  of  labor  and  courage 
without  at  least  saying  to  the  public  :  "  The  author 
indeed  has  talent;  but  the  woman  has  not  been 
wanting  in  aught  of  the  grandeur  of  mind  one 
meets  with  in  her  books." 

Put  Into  a  single  heart  the  motherly  self-denial 
of  Madame  de  Brevent,  the  daughter's  affection  of 


MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON  245 

Juliette,  the  youthful  energy  in  the  struggle  for 
life  of  Jacqueline,  and  add  to  these  qualities  the 
generosity  of  Jacques  and  Rosine  in  "  Grande 
Sauliere,"  and  you  will  have  estimated  in  the  heart 
of  the  woman  the  capital  which  the  author  has 
rendered  current  coin  among  her  characters. 

A  long  study  of  America  and  its  literature  neces- 
sarily led  Madame  Blanc  to  make  a  practical  ac- 
quaintance with  the  United  States,  in  a  visit  which 
she  paid  in  1893.  Leaving  France  in  October  of 
that  year,  she  traversed  alone  this  country,  which 
she  already  knew  so  well.  A  series  of  articles  that 
appeared  in  the  "  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  in  1894 
and  1895,  since  published  in  separate  volumes, 
have  informed  our  reading  public  what  were  the 
impressions  of  a  Frenchwoman  with  reference  to 
American  activity.  Art,  manufactures,  pedagogy, 
prison-life,  commerce,  have  all  found  their  appro- 
priate place  in  the  lines  traced  by  her  dexterous 
and  vivid  pen.  Later  Madame  Blanc  Bentzon 
took  up  the  novel  again,  and  "  La  Double  Epreuve  " 
shows  her  once  more  as  a  lofty  moralist  and  deli- 
cate psychologist.  The  following  pages  are  espe- 
cially devoted  to  her  works  of  fiction.  Her  critical 
writings,  though  of  great  importance  on  account  of 
the  new  horizons  they  have  opened  up  for  our 
benefit,  are  perhaps  neither  so  individual  nor  so 
original  as  her  novels.  In  the  classification  of 
these  I  will  give  precedence  to  such  as  may  be  called 
psychological,  the  novels  of  country  life  will  come 
next,  and  the  novels  of  passion  will  close  the  list. 


246  MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON 


From  a  religious  point  of  view  in  "  Constance," 
from  the  family  and  maternal  point  of  view  in 
"  Un  Divorce,"  the  question  of  the  woman's  remar- 
rying, and  of  the  reconstruction  of  the  family  out 
of  the  ruins  of  the  past,  has  seriously  occupied 
Madame  Blanc.  In  "  Un  Divorce,"  Elsbeth,  who, 
being  a  Protestant,  has  no  scruples  in  the  matter, 
comes  to  a  conclusion  quite  as  unfavorable  as  that 
of  Constance ;  and,  to  judge  by  these  two  cases, 
it  would  seem  that  our  author  does  not  consider 
divorce  likely  to  result  in  much  good.  The  back- 
ground of  the  story  in  "  Un  Divorce "  is  pic- 
turesque, and  the  whole  of  the  small  society  of 
the  town  of  Goslar,  in  Bavaria,  is  marvelously 
described. 

Dr.  Klaus,  the  heroine  Elsbeth's  father,  would 
have  been  a  good  father  if  the  children's  noise  had 
not  made  him  take  a  dislike  to  them.  Science  was 
the  culprit !  This  it  was  which  had  rendered  him 
incapable  of  paying  attention  to  his  wife,  of  even 
mourning  her  loss.  He  had  married  her  without 
reflecting,  and  five  or  six  years  later  had  found 
out  that  she  was  not  a  suitable  wife  for  him.  As 
for  Elsbeth,  her  father's  bird-like  profile  and  his 
blue  spectacles  were  objects  of  dread  in  childhood  ; 
on  growing  up,  however,  Elsbeth,  learning  to  look 
deeper  than  the  blue  spectacles,  and  discovering 
that  the  savant  possessed  a  good  heart,  begins  to 
love  him.  Among  Elsbeth's  friends  and  compan- 
ions, Rosa  Meyer,  the  queen  of  Goslar's  profes- 
sional beauties,  furnishes  us  with  another  charming 


MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON  247 

portrait.  "  Rosa  Meyer  was  short  and  stout,  with 
hair  as  fine  as  gossamer-threads  and  as  yellow  as  a 
child's  ;  her  lips  were  cherry-red,  her  eyes  shone 
with  smiles,  and  her  dimpled  cheeks  were  perpet- 
ually twitching  with  merriment."  The  Hofrath 
plays  the  part  of  Talleyrand  in  this  small  town, 
where  the  Count  de  Waldheim,  an  officer  in  the 
army,  plays  that  of  Don  Juan.  In  vain  Waldheim 
offers  his  hand  and  title  to  Elsbeth  ;  father  Klaus 
refuses  to  sanction  their  marriage  until  the  young 
man  has  chosen  a  profession.  Waldheim's  pro- 
mises not  being  kept,  father  Klaus  breaks  off  the 
engagement,  and  the  rejected  suitor  goes  to  Amer- 
ica, where  he  marries  some  one  else,  yet  without 
forgetting  Elsbeth.  The  latter  does  not  die  of 
despair  ;  her  life,  however,  becomes  solitary,  as  now 
she  has  become  fatherless.  Ten  or  twelve  years 
elapse,  and  one  day  Waldheim  appears  at  Elsbeth's 
home,  accompanied  by  his  daughter  Betsy.  From 
the  first,  Elsbeth  and  Betsy  see  each  other  con- 
stantly ;  then,  after  another  lapse  of  years,  Wald- 
heim, who  had  married  a  woman  unworthy  of  him, 
and  obtained  a  divorce,  asks  Elsbeth  to  become 
Betsy's  mother.  There  comes  a  day,  however, 
when  Betsy's  true  mother,  who,  in  spite  of  her 
fallen  character,  has  always  been  kind  to  her  child, 
makes  her  appearance  on  the  scene,  and  claims  her 
daughter;  Betsy,  who  at  heart  hates  Elsbeth, 
hastens  to  obey  the  call,  whilst  the  latter  realizes 
that  her  duty  is  not  to  usurp  the  rightful  mother's 
place. 

During  her  husband's  absence,  Elsbeth  decides 
the  question  by  committing  suicide ;  she  writes  to 


248  MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON 

Pastor  Uandel,  her  lifelong  friend  :  "  I  am  guilty 
toward  this  woman  ;  Karl's  daughter  is  more  ne- 
cessary to  him  than  anything  else  in  the  world, 
and  Betsy  will  be  able  to  reconcile  her  father  and 
mother ;  indeed,  Betsy  said  to  me  one  day  :  '  My 
duty  is  to  be  with  my  mother,  because  she  is  un- 
happy !  '  When  she  comes  to  feel  her  father's  mis- 
fortune, she  will  love  him  enough  for  both.  I  am 
more  than  in  despair,  I  am  undeceived.  I  send 
you  my  last  thought  because  you  imderstand  my 
heart.  I  ask  you  to  speak  to  God  for  me,  so  that 
I  may  find  in  Him  a  God  of  pity."  Then  she 
throws  herself  into  the  lake,  at  the  same  time 
freeing  her  husband's  conscience  from  all  remorse 
by  giving  to  her  death  the  appearance  of  an  acci- 
dent. 

The  real  reason  of  Elsbeth's  death  is  that  she 
lacks  courage  to  tear  herself  away  alive  from  the 
husband  she  adores.  Actual  death  or  moral  death, 
such  so  far  are  the  consequences  of  divorce,  ac- 
cording to  our  author.  Elsbeth,  who  has  accepted 
marriage  after  divorce,  is  compelled  by  her  con- 
science to  renounce  it.  As  for  Constance,  she  re- 
jects it,  without  hesitation,  and  to  the  end  of  the 
chapter.  The  "  unexpected,  which  always  hap- 
pens in  life,"  is  that  contingency  among  all  upon 
which  Madame  Blanc  lays  most  stress. 

The  unexpected  it  is  which  in  "Tony"  trans- 
forms Lucette's  malignant  heart  into  a  tabernacle 
of  gentleness.  The  Count  d'Armangon  has  fallen 
under  the  influence  of  a  "  dryad."  This  wood- 
cutter's daughter  has  a  son  Tony,  whom  he  prefers 
to  Lucette.      Claudine   Forgeot,   Tony's  mother, 


MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON  249 

obliged  as  she  is  to  yield  in  presence  of  the  "  young 
lady,"  revenges  herself  by  ruling  more  despotically 
over  the  father,  and,  although  Tony  is  a  good  boy, 
exuberant  and  affectionate,  Lucette,  who  suffers 
from  the  yoke  of  her  father's  mistress,  has  taken 
such  a  dislike  to  the  boy  that  one  day  in  an  unrea- 
soning fit  of  anger  she  pushes  him  into  the  pond. 
It  is  this  flash  of  madness  which  becomes  in 
Lucette  the  origin  of  her  moral  regeneration.  She 
saves  her  victim  by  immediately  plunging  into  the 
water  after  him,  and  she  expiates  her  crimes  by 
the  tenderness  she  afterwards  shows  to  Tony,  the 
child  never  suspecting  his  sister's  sentiments,  and 
seeing  in  her  only  the  saint  he  venerates  and 
cherishes. 

This  book,  in  which  Tony's  affection  restores  his 
sister's  strength,  and  Lucette's  tenderness  finally 
revives  the  hardened  and  embittered  heart  of 
Mademoiselle  Arnet,  is  a  touching  paraphrase  of 
the  gospel  triumph  of  the  meek.  All  hearts  are 
modified  under  the  influence  of  love,  and  the  in- 
ward conflicts  of  Lucette's  mind  supply  the  author 
with  pages  of  subtle  study  of  human  nature  equal 
in  interest  to  the  successful  psychological  study 
entitled,  "  Un  Remords." 

A  beautiful  Mexican  girl  who  suddenly  finds 
herself  in  the  thoroughly  Parisian  home  of  her 
aunt,  Madame  de  Clairac  ;  an  impetuous  charac- 
ter whose  unconscious  charms  are  the  envy  of  all 
the  women  who  surround  her ;  an  ardent  passion 
for  a  novelist  of  the  experimentalist  school,  who 
out  of  gallantry  offers  adultery  to  Manuela  as  an 
excuse  for  his  fear  of  marriage ;  and,  last  of  all, 


250  MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON 

the  death  of  the  husband,  —  such  is  the  canvas  on 
which  Madame  Blanc  has  skillfully  traced  the  in- 
most movements  of  Manuela's  heart.  These  emo- 
tions of  remorse  and  grief  so  deeply  undermine 
Manuela's  health  that,  like  a  strong  and  fruitful 
plant  which  has  exhausted  itself  in  flowering,  she 
withers  and  dies.  Unfortunately,  while  in  her 
aunt  Clairac's  house,  where  everything  tells  her 
she  remains  only  till  an  opportunity  for  marriage 
offers,  Manuela  consents  to  marry  Walrey,  a  rich 
manufacturer  of  the  north,  possessed  of  a  noble 
heart  into  the  bargain,  since  he  attaches  himself  to 
Manuela  all  the  more  because  she  is  poor.  This 
marriage,  instead  of  extinguishing,  serves  but  to 
inflame  the  love  she  cherishes  for  the  Parisian 
novelist ;  and,  through  the  agency  of  a  wretched 
fellow  employed  in  her  husband's  works,  who  is  in 
love  with  Madame  Walrey,  her  husband  is  in- 
formed of  the  real  state  of  his  wife's  sentiments. 
This  same  informer  is  a  man  fallen  in  the  world, 
who,  brooding  over  his  wrongs  as  a  victim  of  so- 
ciety, at  last  attempts  to  assassinate  his  employer 
by  stabbing  him  with  a  knife.  Walrey  survives 
for  a  month,  and  Manuela  employs  this  time  in 
proving  to  her  husband  that  he  is  at  last  under- 
stood and  loved.  Under  the  influence  of  the  con- 
viction that  his  wife  has  come  to  love  him,  Walrey 
experiences  a  soothing  calm  which  relieves  and 
consoles  the  reader.  After  her  husband's  death, 
Manuela  is  preyed  upon  by  remorse  as  much  as 
by  grief.  The  fact  of  having  failed  to  appreciate 
so  noble  a  heart  torments  her,  and  she  dies,  ful- 
filling the  cui-e's  saying  that  "the  soul  which  no 


MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON  251 

longer  has  strength  for  its  task  receives  in  due 
course  its  deliverance  from  God."  The  author's 
idealism  appears  in  this  Look  no  less  than  in  "  Vie 
manquee ;  "  it  is  Manuela's  moral  defeat  which 
kills  her. 

The  same  thing  is  true  of  Juliette,  married 
against  her  will,  by  a  father  whom  she  adores,  to 
the  "  Boursier  "  Daverne,  whom  she  despises.  Ju- 
liette resists  the  promptings  of  her  heart,  and  re- 
fuses to  become  the  mistress  of  George  Owald, 
whom  she  passionately  loved  before  her  marriage. 
But  though  she  does  not  indulge  herself  in  such 
feelings,  more  than  once  a  resentf id  wish  crosses 
her  heart  against  this  husband,  who,  indeed,  was 
depraved  and  unworthy.  When  he  is  smitten  with 
smallpox,  she  remains  constantly  by  his  bedside, 
and  nurses  him  tenderly,  as  much  to  pacify  her 
own  conscience  as  in  performance  of  her  duty. 
Free  at  last,  she  consents  to  marry  George,  but 
only  after  three  months'  probation,  to  be  passed 
by  her  in  the  Convent  of  St.  Odile,  where  she 
spent  her  childhood.  Before  going  to  St.  Odile's, 
however,  she  is  herself  attacked  and  disfigured 
by  smallpox,  and  so  changed,  that  Sister  Alde- 
gonde,  her  favorite  nun,  does  not  recognize  her. 
When  George  comes  to  claim  her  hand,  he  re- 
ceives the  packet  of  letters  he  has  addressed  to 
her,  and  which  have  remained  unanswered.  Ju- 
liette, who  entered  St.  Odile's  under  an  assumed 
name,  witnesses  the  despair  of  the  man  she  loves, 
she  hears  the  door  of  the  convent  close  behind  him, 
her  sacrifice  is  complete.  To  George's  mother  she 
writes  that  her  son  will  never  see  her,  Juliette, 


252  MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON 

again,  and  explains  the  reasons  for  this  separation. 
Thenceforth  she  devotes  her  life  to  the  unfortunate. 
Many  years  afterward,  in  the  Luxembourg  Gar- 
dens, she  sees  George  and  his  wife  pass  before 
her;  George's  eyes  turn  from  his  wife  and  gaze 
lingeringly  towards  a  path  where  Juliette  and  he 
used  to  meet.  "  I  saw  at  a  glance,"  Juliette  writes 
afterwards,  "  that  the  wife  who  was  of  one  flesh 
with  him  had  not  gained  and  never  would  gain 
possession  of  his  heart;  I  saw  that  the  remem- 
brance of  me  bound  George  more  closely  than  all 
chains,  being  more  precious  than  all  present  ties, 
superior  to  that  which  passes  away  and  grows  old  ; 
for  him  I  felt  I  was  still  Juliette  ;  and  I  envied 
nothing  and  no  one  in  the  world  ;  I  had  my  share  of 
happiness !  "  Here  once  more  it  is  an  unexpected 
manifestation  of  artistic  treatment,  a  somewhat 
Racinian  solution,  which  consoles  the  reader,  heart- 
broken over  Juliette's  sacrifice,  and  carries  him 
into  a  loftier  region,  after  the  manner  of  Berenice. 

"  Be  we  three  an  example  to  the  universe 
Of  the  tenderest  and  most  unf ortimate  love 
It  has  ever  recorded  in  its  painful  annals." 

What  Juliette  does  not  say,  nor  Berenice  either, 
is  that  she  tore  herself  away  from  the  affection  of 
him  she  loves,  only  in  order  to  remain  forever  the 
same  image  in  the  recesses  of  George's  heart ;  she 
thus  avoids  the  waning  of  passion  which  comes 
with  age  and  custom. 

Juliette's  and  Manuela's  conflicts  are  purely 
and  simply  of  the  moral  order.  In  the  case  of  Con- 
stance  the  conflict  is  a  religious  one.  The  mother 
of  Constance  Vidal  is  the  first  Catholic  of  a  long 


MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON  253 

line  of  Protestants  living  at  Nerac ;  and  it  is  the 
neophyte's  fervor  of  her  Catholic  faith  which  jus- 
tifies her  excessive  zeal  and  uncompromising  con- 
duct. One  night  Dr.  Vidal,  Constance's  father, 
is  summoned  to  the  bedside  of  a  woman  who  has 
made  a  pretended  attempt  to  cut  her  throat.  This 
lady,  who  has  recently  come  to  the  "  Pare,"  the 
residence  of  a  new  landowner,  freshly  arrived  from 
Paris,  the  Count  de  Glenne,  suddenly  departs,  and 
people's  tongues  begin  to  stir.  The  Parisian  is  a 
savant,  and  an  intimacy  naturally  springs  up  be- 
tween him  and  Dr.  Vidal.  But  the  doctor's  eyes, 
absorbed  by  his  crucibles,  forget  to  warn  him  of 
the  sentimental  "  combination  "  between  Raoid  de 
Glenne  and  his  daughter  Constance,  a  regrettable 
combination  too,  since  Raoul  is  the  husband  of 
the  pretended  suicide,  and  Constance  is  inflexible 
in  her  refusal  to  marry  one  divorced.  There  is  a 
rupture,  and  Constance,  who  is  left  alone  in  the 
world  by  her  father's  death,  gives  way  beneath 
the  burden  of  her  mind's  agony.  When  Raoul 
makes  a  final  effort  to  change  her  mind,  she  says 
to  him :  "  I  yield  ;  take  me  far,  far  away !  "  Yet 
Raoul  is  not  the  dupe  of  his  own  desire:  "You 
have  never  refused  me  more  rigorously  than  in 
these  words  of  consent !  "  he  exclaims,  and  they 
separate  with  this  other  cry  uttered  by  Constance  : 
"  It  is  now  that  I  am  forever  yours."  There  is  a 
striking  resemblance,  it  will  be  owned,  between 
Juliette,  who  declares  she  possesses  her  lover 
because  she  recognizes  that  her  image  is  still  in 
his  heart,  and  Constance,  who  in  leaving  Raoul 
feels  that  he  is  hers  "more  than  ever  and  for- 


254  MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON 

ever."  Such  conclusions  are  all  to  the  advantage 
of  the  inner  and  moral  possession,  and  rank  Ma- 
dame Blanc  Bentzon's  writings  in  a  category  by 
themselves  as  regards  their  idealism.  The  reader 
clings  passionately  to  this  idealism ;  especially  in 
the  case  of  Constance,  its  manifestation,  however, 
produces  a  conception  of  God  which  would  be 
hatefully  severe,  if  it  were  not  connected  with  the 
last  outburst  of  passionate  tenderness  that  makes 
Constance  appropriate  to  herself  the  heart  of  him 
he  has  chosen  for  her  master. 

Ill 

Psychology  pure  and  simple,  and  psychology  of 
the  passions,  such  are  the  two  "genres  "  adopted  by 
Madame  Blanc  Bentzon.  "  La  Grande  Sauliere  " 
and  "  L'Obstacle  "  give  us  passion  carried  to  the 
extreme  of  sacrifice  and  immolation.  Rosine  and 
Zina,  the  first  among  haystacks,  the  second  on  her 
death-bed,  are  lovers  to  the  full  extent  of  what 
the  word  implies,  of  self-annihilation,  —  lovers  to 
the  extent  of  St.  Therese's  word  :  "  It  is  not  I 
who  live,  but  him  whom  I  love  who  lives  in  me  !  " 
or,  again,  to  the  extent  of  Heloi'se's  letter  to 
Abelard  after  fourteen  years'  separation  from  him  : 
"  To  be  thy  concubine  is  a  more  envied  title  to 
my  heart  than  that  of  queen  I  " 

Thus  all  self-consideration  is  withdrawn  from 
their  hearts,  and  they  give  or  refuse  themselves 
to  the  lover  only  in  accordance  to  what  happi- 
ness he  may  derive  from  the  gift.  Zina  kills  her- 
self in  order  to  secure  her  lover's  happiness  with 
another  woman.     It  is   the  constantly  heroic  at- 


MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON  255 

mosplaere  of  their  passions  which  maintains  the 
loftiness  of  Madame  Blanc's  characters.  They  are 
always  ready  for  sacrifice. 

Rosine,  the  chief  character  of  "  La  Grande 
Sauliere,"  marries  the  man  she  loves,  but  only  to 
discover,  when  she  is  about  to  lose  him,  that  he 
really  never  loved  her,  and  that  the  one  to  whom 
she  has  sacrificed  herself  has  always  possessed 
her  husband's  heart.  The  Doyens  have  lived 
for  generations  on  the  farm  La  Grande  Sauliere ; 
neither  peasants  nor  gentlemen,  they  are  yet 
proud  of  their  origin,  and  through  this  pride 
Jacques,  the  heir,  cultivates  with  equal  care  his 
mind,  his  heart,  and  his  fields.  The  Latin  Jacques 
learned  fi'om  the  cure  has  made  no  pedagogue 
of  him,  rather  the  reverse.  Marie,  a  cousin  of 
the  Doyens,  governess  in  a  boarding-school,  visits 
them  during  a  period  of  convalescence.  For  this 
refined  town  girl,  Jacques  soon  neglects  Rosine, 
Madame  Doyen's  adopted  child,  to  whom  he  was 
affianced.  Next  to  the  farm  lives  a  pseudo-chate- 
lain,  who  calls  himself  in  Paris  Vicomte  de  Char- 
vieux,  and  is  really  the  son  of  the  money-lending 
peasant  Charvieux.  He  carries  away  Marie  to 
Paris  as  his  mistress.  Jacques  takes  back  his 
homage  to  Rosine,  and  marries  her ;  but  ten  years 
later  the  delirium  of  a  sunstroke  makes  him  con- 
fess to  Rosine,  whom  he  momentarily  mistakes  for 
Marie,  the  secret  of  his  long  half-stifled  love  of 
her  rival.  Generously,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
Empire,  she  saw  Marie  gaining  upon  her  hus- 
band ;  generously  she  said  to  him,  "  You  are  free, 
Jacques ;  follow  your  feelings ;  you  did  your  best 


256  MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON 

to  be  loyal,  but  your  love  is  stronger."  The  story 
ends  with  the  return  of  Marie,  dying,  whilst  Rosine 
gives  her  the  welcome  of  the  prodigal. 

Strong  souls,  capable  of  rising  up  to  reach  moral 
resurrection  after  the  first  defeat,  natures  nobly 
excessive  in  heroism  or  in  despair,  full  of  heart 
rather  than  of  reason,  such  are,  for  the  most  part, 
the  women  set  before  us  by  our  author.  Zina  in 
"  L'Obstacle  "  is  another  one  of  the  same  family. 
Born  on  the  highroad,  Zina  has  entered  into  a 
convent,  under  the  protection  of  a  Russian  lady. 
Countess  Lavinoif  prefers  fortune-tellers  to  the 
decalogue,  and  magnetism  to  liturgies,  "  as  in  the 
way  of  material  alimentation  caviar  and  tea  please 
her  better  than  beef  or  Burgundy."  One  unlucky 
day  for  Zina,  the  countess  loses  her  money  and  her 
life.  Zina  has  now  to  choose  between  becoming 
a  nun  and  following  Mademoiselle  Chauveau,  the 
companion  of  the  countess,  to  a  clerkship  in  the 
post-office  at  Nivernais,  of  which  Mademoiselle 
Chauveau  is  chief. 

The  post-office  becomes  a  magnet,  with  such 
eyes  as  Zina's  behind  the  guichet,  and  Zina  elopes 
with  the  Marquis  de  Valouze,  whose  mistress  she 
becomes. 

Zina  is  a  Georgian  ;  for  her  love  means  slavery. 
Valouze  having  deserted  her,  she  takes  refuge  in 
Paris,  and  kills  herself,  meanwhile  accusing  herself 
of  every  ignominy,  in  order  to  exonerate  the  con- 
science of  the  loved  one  ;  her  capacity  for  loving 
exceeds  that  of  Juliette  or  of  Rosine,  for  Juliette 
kept  the  heart  of  her  lover,  and  Rosine  the  worship 
of  hers,  whereas  Zina  keeps  but  contempt,  as  this 


MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON  257 

contempt  is  for  her  the  principal  means  of  insuring 
to  her  faithless  lover  the  peaceful  enjoyment  of  his 
venal  marriage  with  Marguerite  de  Selve,  the  one 
convent  friend  of  Zina. 

However,  Valouze  is  not  entirely  base.  On  read- 
ing Zina's  last  letter  before  dying,  he  avows  to  Mar- 
guerite his  whole  conduct,  thus  revealing  Zina's 
heroic  courage  in  trying  to  give  this  man's  con- 
science peace  at  the  cost  of  her  own  name.  Before 
such  abnegation  as  Zina's,  Marguerite  cannot  re- 
frain from  saying  to  Roger,  "  She  loved  you  more 
at  the  last  moment  of  her  life  than  I  shall  be  able 
to  love  you  in  the  whole  course  of  mine  !  " 

Psychology  and  passion  are  not,  however,  the 
only  two  elements  of  the  modern  novel.  Le  moncle 
is  a  third  one,  and  le  monde  may  be  likened  to  the 
Salon  Carre  in  the  Louvre  :  it  is  a  synoptic  table 
of  aU  excellences.  In  England  politics,  with  us 
letters,  give  it  its  dominant  tone.  The  "world," 
however,  in  every  capital,  is  but  a  first  selection, 
the  second  and  refined  selection  being  expressed 
by  "  society." 

IV 

Between  society,  properly  so  called,  and  le 
monde  there  is  the  same  distance  as  between  the 
aristocracy  of  the  Empire  and  that  of  Vancien 
regime. 

A  woman  of  le  monde  in  France  does  not  in 
any  way  necessarily  belong  to  society.  Should  it 
be  asked  where  this  society  resides,  what  it  does, 
by  what  right  it  arrogates  to  itself  the  supremacy 
it  claims,  the  answer  is  ambiguous,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  its  role  may  be  clearly  enough  defined. 


258  MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON 

The  reason  of  tlie  strength  of  society  is  precisely 
its  occultness ;  it  is  a  force  in  the  abstract,  pos- 
sessing no  stronghold,  therefore  escaping  attacks. 
Neither  the  Marais  of  bygone  fame  nor  the  classic 
Faubourg  St.-Germain  was,  or  is,  its  peculiar  abode. 
Some  of  the  women  members  of  society  bear  about 
them  traces  of  the  Ghetto,  —  beet  root,  wool,  or 
plaster,  according  as  the  money  that  has  purchased 
their  titles  has  been  gained  in  sugar,  sheep-farm- 
ing, or  building.  But  the  titles  thus  bought  are 
authentic,  and  when  once  the  bargain  is  struck, 
the  person  sold  so  effectually  changes  into  the 
owner  that,  by  means  of  intermarriage  and  mater- 
nity, nearly  all  these  products  of  wool,  beet  root, 
or  plaster  truly  become  after  a  very  few  years 
veritable  women  of  society.  Society,  having  thus 
sold  itself,  amicably  adopts  the  newcomer,  and  the 
buyer  obtains  incorporation  by  virtue  of  the  hard 
cash  paid  for  the  right  to  class  all  the  historic 
names  in  France  among  her  aunts  and  cousins. 
Thenceforth  society  gathers  into  its  fold  celebrities 
of  arts  and  letters,  and  by  so  doing  bestows  upon 
them  a  seal  of  official  consecration.  However  ab- 
surd may  be  the  whims  of  a  Bohemian  of  talent, 
every  Verlaine  is  pretty  sure  of  finding  his  Mon- 
tesquiou-Fezensac. 

The  novelists  of  the  day  touch  but  slightly 
upon  the  characteristics  of  this  society.  Their  pri- 
vate intercourse  scarcely  carries  them  further  than 
the  elegant  plutocracy ;  the  monde  in  which  the 
women  of  fashion  copy  the  demi-monde,  and  dis- 
play in  their  boudoirs  a  luxury  of  furniture  that 
the  old  French  society  always  repudiated  on  prin- 


MADAME  BLANC  BENT Z ON  259 

ciple.  The  society  in  which  (whatever  its  real 
morals,  outward  manners  keep  their  traditional 
austerity)  grandmothers  dress  in  woolen  gowns  — 
this  real  French  society  figures  but  slightly  even 
in  the  writings  of  Guy  de  Maupassant ;  never  in 
those  of  Bourget.  It  is,  consequently,  one  of 
Madame  Blanc's  merits  to  have  utilized  her  ac- 
quaintance with  society  and  to  have  portrayed  it 
excellently,  whether  in  the  country  in  "  La  Voca- 
tion de  Louise  "  and  in  "  Tony,"  or  in  "  Jacque- 
line," where  it  is  represented  by  Giselle  and  her 
mother,  as  Marguerite  de  Selve  represents  it  in 
her  turn  in  "  L'Obstacle." 

It  so  happens  that  in  "  Jacqueline  "  the  monde 
and  society  are  closely  entangled  and  interwo- 
ven, yet  without  loss  of  identity,  wherein  is  re- 
vealed Madame  Blanc's  intimate  knowledge  of 
each.  The  Marchioness  de  Valouze,  Marguerite 
de  Selve's  mother-in-law,  in  "L'Obstacle,"  is  the 
perfect  model  of  the  woman  of  society ;  Madame 
de  Nailles,  in  "  Jacqueline,"  is  an  excellent  proto- 
type of  the  woman  of  the  monde.  In  Madame  de 
Nailles'  drawing-room,  on  a  flower-bed  of  celebri- 
ties, exotic  beauties,  and  people  of  every  class,  ap- 
pear a  fair  number  of  three-halfpenny  peaches,^  to- 
gether with  one  or  two  women  of  society  who  do  not 
remain,  but  seem  to  make  only  a  fugitive  appear- 
ance in  this  heteroclite  environment,  Jacqueline 
de  Nailles,  who  has  been  spoilt  by  a  stepmother 
who  lets  her  have  her  own  way  in  everything,  in 
order  to  get  rid    of   her,   will   manifest   a  noble 

^  An  expression  borrowed  from  Le  Demi-Monde,  in  which 
Dumas  thus  characterizes  dedassees. 


260  MADAME  BLANC  BENT Z ON 

courage  when  the  time  comes,  but  meanwhile  shows 
much  o£  a  child's  rebelliousness.  "It  is  really 
vexing,"  she  says,  "  to  be  present  at  mamma's  '  at 
homes,'  without  understanding  a  word  of  all  the 
scandal  they  talk,  for,  I  must  confess,  I  could 
make  nothing  of  all  the  ambiguities  every  one, 
except  me,  seems  to  relish." 

From  the  moment  when  Jacqueline  discovers 
that  Marien,  the  artist  to  whom  she  has  given  her 
fresh  young  heart  of  sixteen,  is  in  reality  her 
mother's  lover,  the  deep  affection  she  cherishes  for 
her  father  is  mingled  with  a  touch  of  pity.  "  My 
poor  father,"  is  the  burden  of  her  thought.  Her 
father  dies,  and,  being  ruined,  Jacqueline  seeks 
for  work.  It  is  then  that  Madame  Blanc  shows 
us  the  world  pitiless  even  in  its  beneficence.  It 
grants  Jacqueline  a  share  of  its  charity  while  per- 
sistently refusing  her  its  confidence.  Jacqueline 
being  a  good  musician,  the  former  friends  of  her 
family  use  her  for  their  own  advantage,  but  hesi- 
tate to  intrust  to  her  the  education  of  their  chil- 
dren. Worldlings  look  upon  amateurs  with  the 
utmost  contempt ;  they  will  give  their  support  to 
the  most  mediocre  professional  rather  than  to  one 
of  themselves.  Amid  the  various  attempts  to  gain 
independence  by  her  work,  in  which  Jacqueline  be- 
comes in  turn  music-mistress,  lady  companion, 
singing  pupil  in  order  to  go  on  the  stage,  the  poor 
girl  is  forced  to  recognize  that  the  only  career 
which  invites  her  is  that  of  becoming  the  mistress 
of  some  one  of  her  father's  friends. 

Great  fertility  of  production,  a  marked  prefer- 
ence for  strong-willed  heroines,  such  are  some  of 


MADAME  BLANC  BENTZON  261 

our  author's  characteristics.  Psychologically  she 
ranges  next  to  Octave  Feuillet.  In  one  point  of 
view,  however,  she  is  above  him,  namely,  in  her 
perception  of  other  horizons  than  those  exclusively 
French.  She  possesses  an  intuitive  insight  into 
foreign  races,  which  classes  her  apart  in  our  coun- 
try. In  certain  sketches  of  rural  life,  for  example, 
in  "  Desire  Turpin,"  Madame  Blanc  almost  equals 
George  Eliot  and  Charlotte  Bronte  in  country 
savor  and  coloring.  Applying  Alfred  de  Vigny's 
just  remark  that  "  sorrow  is  never  a  unit  of  feel- 
ing," we  may  assert  that  talent  is  likewise  never 
found  in  the  unit  state.  It  is  a  compound  made 
up  of  diverse  elements,  that  of  Madame  Blanc  be- 
ing more  complex  and  varied  than  that  of  any  of 
her  writing  compatriots,  at  any  rate,  as  far  as  the 
comprehension  of  foreign  countries  is  concerned. 
Without  belittling  her  by  calling  her  talent  "  vi- 
rile," which  is  as  unbecoming  in  a  woman  as  the 
contrary  in  a  man,  I  must  conclude  by  once  more 
pointing  out  Madame  Blanc's  preference  for  minds 
that  act,  over  natures  that  are  passive,  and  her 
taste  for  women  who  make  even  the  greatest  love- 
passion  only  a  chapter  of  their  lives  and  not  its 
whole  sum  and  substance.  An  impertvirbable 
equilibrium  of  soul  is  allied  in  her  to  the  most 
vivid  flights  of  imagination,  —  imagination  that 
keeps  pace  with  such  continual  wholesomeness  of 
purpose  that  she  might  well  say  of  herself  in  be- 
ginning a  new  book  what  Madame  de  Sevigne 
wrote  to  her  daughter,  on  coming  home  from 
Vichy :  "  Je  vais  reprendre  le  cours  de  ma  belle 
sante." 


262  3IADAME  BLANC  BENTZON 

Such  a  healthy  brain  in  our  days  of  neiirasthenic 
pathology  applied  to  novel-writing  is  in  itself  an 
enviable  merit,  and  in  these  few  pages  we  have 
seen  enough  of  Madame  Blanc's  writings  to  con- 
clude that  it  is  neither  the  only  nor  the  major 
merit  of  a  mind  so  variously  gifted  and  so  rich  in 
ideas  and  in  plots. 


PAUL  VERLAINEi 

Supercilious  and  solitary  in  the  esteem  of 
some,  a  Bohemian  in  that  o£  others,  Verlaine  has 
had  his  fanatic  disciples,  his  merciless  traducers, 
—  a  Grand  Seigneur  for  friend,  the  Philistines  for 
executioners  ! 

A  Montesquiou-Fezensac,  a  descendant  of  Henri 
IV.'s  comrade  at  Coutras,  it  was  who  draped  the 
fold  of  his  shroud  to  the  music  of  the  poet's  own 
verses,  dropped  like  flowers  upon  the  bier.  At  the 
very  moment  the  subscribers  of  the  "  Temps  "  (most 
of  them  shareholders)  were  falling  foul  of  "so- 
ciety "  for  making  the  funeral  of  an  "  old  offender  " 
almost  a  matter  of  public  sensation.  As  soon  as 
spoken,  the  words  "  old  offender "  brought  upon 
Verlaine  a  shower  of  inappropriate  comparisons 
with  Villon.  I  say  "  inappropriate  "  advisedly, 
for  in  their  use  of  the  dagger  there  is  no  possible 
link  between  the  work  of  these  poets ;  the  fact 
that  a  poet  of  the  nineteenth  centuiy,  like  a  poet 
of  the  fifteenth,  once  knifed  a  rival,  forms  no 
logical  reason  for  proclaiming  a  resemblance  be- 
tween their  verses. 

The  dagger  still  not  sufficing,  there  remained 
the  disorderliness  of  his  life,  and  so  La  Fontaine 
was  called  on  the  scene.  Thus  the  most  delicate  of 
the  soul's  poets,  Verlaine,  is  compared  with  Villon, 
one  of  the  most  sombre  thinkers  of  French  poe- 
1  Boru  March  30,  1844  ;  died  January  8, 1896. 


264  PAUL    VERLAINE 

try ;  because,  like  Villon,  Verlaine  did  not  call 
in  the  police  to  avenge  the  blows  of  the  heart. 
And  then,  again,  Verlaine,  the  subtle  sentimental- 
ist, is  compared  with  the  sanest  of  reasoners,  the 
protagonist  of  common  sense,  simply  because  nei- 
ther one  nor  the  other  had  any  tendency  to  domes- 
tic life.  What  a  singular  method  of  criticism ! 
Because  a  man  whose  worldly  wisdom  and  absence 
of  enthusiasm  wrap  the  gems  of  his  work  in  the 
moral  of  an  old  man,  as  Lamartine  said ;  because 
such  a  one  forgot  his  landlord,  —  the  truth  being 
that  he  had  no  lodging  whatever,  living  as  he  did 
on  the  hospitality  of  two  of  the  most  excellent  wo- 
men of  his  time,  —  is  this  a  reason  for  hazarding  a 
comparison  between  Verlaine  and  La  Fontaine,  or 
between  their  works  ? 

What  similarity  can  be  established  between  a 
writer  who  thus  sums  up  his  philosophy :  "  I  owe 
all  to  myself,  to  my  own  care,  to  my  talent  for 
placing  my  money,"  ^  and  the  sensitive  writer  of 
"  Bon  pauvre,  ton  vetement  est  leger  "  ?  What 
relation  is  there  between  the  ant  who  jeers  at  the 
good-natured  grasshopper  with  her  dry  "  chantez, 
maintenant "  —  or  him  who  prompts  the  ant's  harsh 
speech  —  and  the  apologist  of  the  beggar  ? 

"  Ton  boire  et  ton  manger  sont,  je  le  crains, 

Tristes  et  mornes; 
Seulement,  ton  corps  faible  a,  dans  ses  reins, 

Sans  fin  ni  bornes, 
Des  forces  d'abstinence  et  de  refus 

Tr^s  glorieuses, 
Et  des  ailes  vers  les  eieux  entrevus 

Impdrieuses." 

*  U Ingratitude  et  V Injustice  des  Hommes  envers  la  Fortune. 


PAUL   VERLAINE  265 

Who  ever  saw  or  felt  "  imperious  "  wings  float  from 
the  verses  of  La  Fontaine  to  the  reader,  and  bear 
him  and  the  poet  away,  and  above  life  ? 

These  absurd  comparisons,  however,  have  their 
excuse.  They  furnish  copy.  On  the  very  day  a 
contemporary  of  mark  is  carried  off  from  the  ranks 
of  human  society,  the  public,  excited  by  the  hunt 
for  news,  must  find  a  full  account  of  his  life  in  the 
daily  paper.  The  journalist,  inadequately  supplied 
with  documents,  is  compelled  to  fill  up  his  pages  as 
best  he  can  at  a  moment's  notice.  He  makes  fuel 
of  every  kind  of  wood,  and  hence  such  conjunc- 
tions and  pell-mell  parallels,  —  comparisons  be- 
tween talents  so  foreign,  often  based  on  the  fact 
that  there  was  a  single  point  of  resemblance  be- 
tween the  men.  Thus  is  the  person  classified  by 
the  exterior  side  of  his  life,  while  here,  on  the  con- 
trary, a  close  glance  reveals  above  all  the  essential 
difference  between  Verlaine  and  La  Fontaine. 

Married  to  a  woman  whom  he  worshiped  all  his 
life,  —  those  who  were  with  him  in  his  last  moments 
heard  his  appeal  to  her,  and  to  her  alone,  —  Ver- 
laine, who  was  not  haunted  by  fantasies  in  verse 
only,  sank  a  part  of  his  wife's  fortune  in  a  specu- 
lation with  a  circus  of  merry-go-rounds.  He  him- 
self had  yielded  to  the  childish  fascination :  — 

"C'est  ravissant  comme  qa,  vous  soule 
D'aller  ainsi  dans  ce  cirque  bete  ! 
Bien  daus  le  ventre  et  mal  dans  la  tete, 
Du  mal  en  masse  et  du  bien  en  foule. 


"  Tournez,  tournez  !  le  ciel  en  velours 
D'astres  en  or  se  vet  lentement. 
Voici  partir  I'amante  et  I'ainant. 
Tournez  au  son  joyeux  des  tambours." 


266  PAUL   VERLAINE 

The  circus  o£  merry-go-rounds  was  unfortunately 
hete  for  Verlaine,  as  it  failed  completely,  and  the 
worst  result  of  the  speculation  was  his  wife's 
anger.  One  of  her  admirers,  spying  the  psycholo- 
gical moment,  received  the  famous  cut  which  was 
an  outlet  at  once  for  the  many  bitternesses  massed 
in  the  poet's  heart  and  in  the  husband's. 

The  affair  happened  in  Belgium.  It  was,  there- 
fore, out  of  the  depth  of  a  Belgian  cell  that  these 
admirable  tears  came  to  us :  — 

"  II  pleure  dans  mon  cceur 
Comme  il  pleut  sur  la  ville; 


II  pleure  sans  raison 
Dans  ce  cceur  qui  s'dcceure. 


C'est  bien  la  pire  peine 
De  ne  savoir  pourquoi, 
Sans  amour  et  sans  liaine, 
Mon  cceur  a  taut  de  peine." 

From  the   same   cell  broke  forth  this  beautiful 

cry:  — 

"  La  tempete  est  venue.     Est-ce  bien  la  tempete  ? 
En  tout  cas,  il  y  eut  de  la  grele  et  du  feu, 
Et  la  mis^re,  et  comme  un  abandon  de  Dieu." 

After  this  "  abandon  de  Dieu  "  came  the  appease- 
ment of  "  Sagesse."  He  wrote  for  his  wife,  whom 
he  so  greatly  loved,  and  loved  to  the  end,  "La 
Bonne  Chanson." 

"  Puisque  I'aube  grandit,  puisque  voici  I'aurore, 
Puisque,  apres  m' avoir  fui  longtemps,  I'espoir  veut  bien 
Revoler  devers  moi  qui  I'appelle  et  I'implore, 
Puisque  tout  ce  bonlieur  veut  bien  etre  le  mien!  " 

And  again  for  her  "  La  Lune  Blanche,"  and  yet 


PAUL   VERLAINE  267 

again  :  "  N'est-ce  pas  ?  en  depit  des  sots  et  des  me- 
ckants."  For  her  lie  sang  of  woods  and  flowers, 
of  the  rapture  of  living,  and  then  came  the  shadow 
and  afterwards  the  two  years  of  "  compulsory  medi- 
tation," completed  under  the  influence  of  the  chap- 
lain and  the  nuns  who  surrounded  him  during  his 
sojourn  in  the  infirmary  and  in  the  prison. 

Verlaine  came  out  of  this  ordeal  a  new  man. 
The  humble  post  of  professor  of  English  (a  lan- 
guage he  hardly  knew)  was  offered  him  in  the 
Jura.  Here  he  mused,  he  soared  above  himself, 
he  sought  God ;  and  in  finding  Him,  he  also  found 
one  of  his  own  best  veins.  This  strong  spon- 
taneous soul  cried  out  his  tender  cry,  his  St.  John's 
cry:  — 

"  0  mon  Dieu,  vous  m'avez  bless^  d'amour  ; 

O  mon  Dieu,  j'ai  connu  que  tout  est  vil  ; 

Voici  mon  front  qui  n'a  pu  que  rougir  ; 

Voici  mes  pieds,  frivoles  voyageurs  ; 

Vous,  Dieu  de  paix,  de  joie  et  de  bonheur, 
Toutes  mes  peurs,  toutes  mes  ignorances, 
Vous,  Dieu  de  paix,  de  joie  et  de  bonheur, 

Vous  connaissez  tout  cela,  tout  cela, 

Et  que  je  suis  plus  pauvre  que  personne, 

Vous  connaissez  tout  cela,  tout  cela. 

Mais  ce  que  j'ai,  mon  Dieu,  je  vous  le  donne." 

"  Sagesse  "  overflows  with  this  naive,  devout,  and 
tender  sap :  "  Those  who  do  not  resemble  this  little 
child  will  not  enter  the  kingdom  of  my  Father." 


268  PAUL   VERLAINE 

It  was  the  supreme  grace  of  Verlaine,  in  Lis  gen- 
erous repentance,  as  well  as  in  his  errors,  to  be 
constantly  the  "  little  child  "  of  the  gospel.  His 
very  mea  culi^a  was  devoid  of  that  excess,  the  stamp 
of  vanity,  which  only  too  often  tacks  an  ugly  deco- 
ration to  the  apparent  shame :  his  were  the  candid 
weaknesses  of  Christ's  disciples.  He  fell,  and  fell 
again,  because  foresight  and  experience  were  things 
that  slipped  by  him,  impotent  to  act  upon  his  in- 
fantine soul. 

It  was  not  that  his  impulses  turned  a  deaf  ear  to 
the  counsels  of  experience,  but  rather  that  these 
counsels  were  never  in  time  to  arrest  impulse.  A 
friend  with  great  difficulty  managed  to  gather  three 
hundred  francs  to  relieve  Verlaine  at  a  moment  of 
pressing  distress.  Verlaine  took  a  cab,  and  hunted 
up  all  his  comrades  to  drive  them  round  like  a 
wedding  party.  The  procession  stopped  at  each 
wine-shop  of  the  quarter,  and  it  is  easy  to  imagine 
the  condition  of  Verlaine  by  night-time !  Still, 
if  in  aid  of  a  friend's  need  there  was  a  call  for 
a  "  chanson  "  for  the  publisher  Vanier,  Verlaine 
never  hesitated,  and  the  work  (almost  an  effort 
to  him)  once  done  was  a  proof  that  his  heart  strove 
above  the  strange  discrepancies  here  mentioned. 

The  childlike  spontaneity  of  Verlaine's  heart 
constitutes  the  vitality  of  his  poetry.  It  is  a  cry 
of  the  soul  from  first  to  last.  Herein,  again,  is 
Verlaine  revealed  thoroughly  French,  for  the  ex- 
quisite chiseling  of  the  form  never  for  a  moment 
represses  the  intense  sensibility  at  bottom.  He  is 
never  troubled  by  pride  and  its  accompanying  dis- 
guises.    From  this  he  was  preserved  by  the  flame 


PAUL   VERLAINE  269 

of  naive  passion  that  he  nourished.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  this  absence  of  pride  is,  in  a  measure,  re- 
sponsible for  the  debrailU  of  his  life,  he  owed  to  it 
the  flower  of  his  talent,  the  suave  grace  of  the 
verses  of  "  Sagesse."  The  distinguishing  note  of 
Verlaine,  and  one  which  he  alone  among  our  poets 
possesses,  is  the  loving  faith  of  his  religious  poe- 
try:— 

"  Mon  Dieu  m'a  dit :  Mon  fils,  il  faut  m'aimer  ; " 
and  further  down  — 

"  Oserai-je  adorer  la  trace  de  vos  pas, 
Sur  ces  genoux  saignants  d'un  rampement  inf ame  ?  " 

and  again  — 

"  II  faut  m'aimer  !    Je  suis  I'universel  Baiser." 

I  repeat  that  the  disciple  St.  John  and  Francis  of 
Assisi  are  spontaneously  evoked  in  the  mind  of  the 
reader  by  the  tender  effusions  of  this  heart  exclu- 
sively love's  slave. 

Lamartine,  Hugo,  Musset  have  had  their  hours 
for  "  singing "  God  ;  but  they  sang  rather  than 
loved,  adored  rather  than  cherished.  In  Lamar- 
tine a  pantheistic  note  is  mingled  with  the  song ; 
in  Musset,  despair  and  unrest.  Verlaine  is  all 
engrossed  in  loving,  and  for  this  reason  he  intro- 
duces an  infinitely  more  religious  mood  into  his 
poetry  than  any  of  the  others  introduced  into 
theirs. 

The  only  comparison  between  Musset  and  Ver- 
laine that  forces  itself  into  notice  rests  wholly  on 
the  use  of  absinthe,  which  will  strike  the  reader  as 
a  sufficiently  inadequate  means  of  identification  be- 


270  PAUL    VERLAINE 

tween  t^vo  poets  of  violence  and  disorder.  Neither 
do  the  similarities  of  rhythm  constitute  similarities 
of  "  essence."  It  is  not  in  "  RoUa "  that  we  can 
look  for  any  suggestion  of  the  Verlaine  of  the 
"  Fille."  Still  less  does  "  L'Espoir  en  Dieu " 
shadow  forth  the  Verlaine  of  "  La  Vierge  Marie." 

Musset  is  the  poet  of  a  refined  humanity, — 
of  a  humanity  iu  which  innate  brutalities  have 
yielded  place  to  corruption ;  of  a  humanity  in  which 
the  traces  of  savage  nature  and  the  stallion  na- 
ture have  disappeared.  Verlaine,  perhaps,  does 
not  see  so  far,  but  he  sees  as  truly,  as  Musset.  He 
explains  his  own  heart,  and  his  heart  is  a  very  sim- 
ple one,  precisely  because  it  is  contradictory  in  its 
enthusiasms,  incoherent  in  its  movements. 

The  souls  that  Musset  paints  are  literary  souls,  — 
souls  that  Musset  met  in  gilded  Bohemia  and  in 
drawing-rooms.  In  his  work,  bright  chandeliers 
flash  light  on  beautiful  nude  shoulders ;  and  even 
the  pictures  of  nature  that  Musset  paints  are 
always  drawn  from  select  centres.  He  does  not 
wander,  like  Verlaine's  "  Noctambule,"  in  the 
shadow  of  the  morgue,  in  the  dark  twilight  of 
ignoble  slums. 

If  a  parallel  were  inevitable ;  if,  in  order  to  be 
sure  of  the  talent  of  a  French  poet  of  the  day,  it 
were  compulsory  to  compare  him  with  a  preceding 
French  poet,  then  our  choice  should  fall  on  Marot ; 
not  the  Marot  of  the  "  Elegies,"  but  here  and 
there,  and  by  an  occasional  flash,  the  Marot  of 
the  "  Chansons  :  "  — 

"  Quel  est  cet  homme  bas  de  visage  et 
Bas  de  taille, 


PAUL    VERLAINE  271 

Qui  T'ose  ainsi  saluer  Seigneur  ? 
C'est  un  maraud."  ^ 

The  delightful  song  of  Louis  XII.'s  protege,  — 
"  Plaisir  n'ay  plus,  mais  vis  en  ddconfort "  — 
evokes  quite  naturally  Verlaine's 

"  Bon  pauvre,  ton  vetement  est  l^ger." 
Nevertheless,  taking  a  general  view  of  both  poets, 
Verlaine  as  little  resembles  Marot  as  he  does 
Musset,  or  as  Ronsard  resembles  La  Fontaine. 
They  possess  in  common  that  "  esprit  naif  et 
malin "  which  Sainte-Beuve  holds  to  be  the  spe- 
cial gift  of  the  French  race,  from  Joinville  to  La 
Fontaine ;  this  gift  creating  between  all  these 
writers  more  properly  a  similarity  of  atmosphere 
than  any  real  resemblance.  Another  likeness, 
which  is  found  not  in  their  poetry,  but  in  their 
life,  is  that  both  Marot  and  Verlaine  were  sincere 
in  their  devotional  evolutions.  Clement  Marot 
turned  Huguenot,  endured  exile  and  the  greatest 
poverty  without  flinching.  Possibly,  though,  Ver- 
laine might  have  shown  greater  delicacy  of  instinct 
than  Marot.  He  would  not  have  allowed  the  poor 
Duchess  of  Ferrara  (Renee  de  France)  to  sell  her 
very  garments  to  succor  him.  Marot  and  Ver- 
laine, again,  were  admirable  "  goldsmiths  ;  "  not 
triflers,  like  Jean  Mechinot,  Marot's  contempo- 
rary, who  "  faisait  des  huitains  bons  a  changer  de 
trente-huit  manieres,"  but  finished  jewelers,  sub- 
tile setters  of  gems.  This  was  another  point  of 
similarity  between  them. 

Here,  however,  all  comparison  between  the  two 
^  The  poet's  play  upon  his  own  name. 


272  PAUL    VERLAINE 

poets  ends.  It  is  not  by  the  old  clothes  for  which 
Madame  de  la  Sabliere  substituted  fine  raiment, 
nor  by  the  unthinking  negligence  of  their  respective 
lives,  that  we  can  match  two  natures  so  diverse  as 
Verlaine's  and  La  Fontaine's.  The  constant  care- 
lessness in  all  the  details  of  his  existence  was 
revealed  by  La  Fontaine  in  his  most  intimate 
relations.  The  Fabulist  had  no  deep  feeling  for 
anybody.  Verlaine,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  de- 
voted son,  an  affectionate  friend,  throughout  the 
storms  of  his  life.  During  the  respite  after  one  of 
these  tempests  he  sent  for  his  mother.  An  old 
farmer  who  had  worked  for  Verlaine's  father  had 
settled  in  Paris,  where  he  kept  a  boarding-house. 
Verlaine  rented  two  rooms,  and  the  "  Little  Saint," 
as  the  poet's  mother  was  speedily  called,  set  about 
forming  some  sort  of  hearth  for  her  son.  The 
homeless  of  the  neighborhood  received  aid  and 
welcome  from  this  little  old  lady,  who,  shriveled 
by  care,  was  rarely  seen,  except  on  her  way  to 
church.  This  was  a  rural  corner  in  the  big  city, 
a  corner  of  the  Jura,  a  corner  of  simple  beings 
formed  by  this  little  group.  But  misfortune  came 
sooner  than  old  age,  and  the  little  mother  took  to 
her  bed.  The  day  God  called  her  soul  forth  from 
its  prison  her  son  was  also  ill,  and  unable  to  pray 
beside  her  bed.  He  was  compelled  to  let  her  cross 
the  threshold  for  the  last  time  without  accompany- 
ing her!  Of  the  hurricanes  and  torments  that 
tore  the  poet  the  "  petite  dame  sainte  "  suspected 
nought.  She  was  familiar  rather  with  the  son  than 
with  the  artist.  Anxious  for  his  beloved  mother's 
peace,  he  kept  from  her  very  nobly  the  Verlaine  of 


PAUL   VERLAINE  273 

"  La  mort  pour  bercer  les  cceurs  mal  chanceux  ; " 
"  Pauvres  cceurs  mal  tomb^s  trop  bons  et  trfes  fiers  certes." 

The  despairing  Verlaine,  who  was  the  poet,  would 
turn  to  her  love  after  each  fresh  deception,  but 
tacitly  and  without  confessions  :  — 

"  J'ai  la  fureur  d'aimer.     Mou  coeur  si  faible  est  fou. 
N'importe  quand,  n'importe  quel  et  n'importe  ou, 
Qu'un  Eclair  de  beautd,  de  vertu,  de  vaillanee 
Luise,  il  s'y  prdcipite,  il  y  vole,  il  s'y  lance." 

What  unconfessed  wounds  a  heart  so  capable  of 
loving  must  have  hidden  from  this  mother  !  They 
loved  each  other;  this  was  the  compensation  of 
enforced  silences,  in  which  the  son's  generosity 
spared  the  mother's  fragility :  — 

"  O  ces  mains,  ces  mains  vdndr^es, 
Faites  le  geste  qui  pardonne  ! " 

verses  of  tender  outpouring,  in  which,  untram- 
meled,  Verlaine's  filial  worship  bursts  and  ex- 
pands, and  which  are  the  sweetest  cries  of  his 
affectionate  soul. 

Once  more,  to  love  was  the  very  essence  of  his 
nature  ;  it  was  his  grace  and  his  attraction,  —  at- 
traction which  sprang  from  the  feminine  note  of 
his  heart.  Amongst  his  followers,  amongst  his 
imitators,  none  have  been  able  to  imitate  this 
faculty.  Neither  Villiers  de  L' Isle- Adam  nor  any 
of  the  others  have  filled  their  verses  with  this  over- 
flowing tenderness  which  distinguishes  and  endears 
Verlaine  to  so  many.  He  knew  how  to  make  those 
who  attached  themselves  to  him  anxious  about  his 
fate.  This  is  an  exceptional  devotion,  which  hardly 
any  but  natures  capable  of  valuing  it  can  excite. 


274  PAUL    VERLAINE 

In  Verlalne,  ingratitude  was  not  allied  to  dig- 
nity, as  too  often  happens  with  brain-workers, 
whose  pride  leads  them  to  regard  kindness  as  a 
due  foreseen  and  expected.  Verlaine  gave  with  a 
full  heart  to  those  around  him,  and  the  attentions 
with  which  the  Count  de  Montesquiou  surrounded 
the  poet's  last  years  were,  indeed,  the  sanction  of 
the  feeling  he  inspired  in  Verlaine.  Besides,  —  a 
detail  which  has  not  been  sufficiently  noted  in  the 
numerous  inexactitudes  written  elsewhere,  —  be- 
fore, long  before,  the  alleviations  of  the  last  four 
or  five  years  of  his  life,  Verlaine's  poor  disciples 
had  frequently  defrayed  their  master's  expenses. 
One  of  them,  Francois  Coppee's  secretary,  used  to 
collect  among  twelve  of  them  every  month  the  two 
hundred  and  fifty  francs,  to  which  each  one  con- 
tributed twenty,  and  God  only  knows  how  difficult 
this  louis  often  was  to  find  for  some  of  them,  and 
how  many  comings  and  goings  the  poor  secretary 
had  to  go  through. 

But  delicate  natures  placed  in  a  position  to  help, 
minds  appreciative  of  the  genius  of  Verlaine,  and 
whom  his  poetry  had  attached,  began  to  inquire 
into  the  services  that  might  be  attempted.  The 
matter  was  not  an  easy  one  to  manage.  The 
poet's  impressionable  and  impressionist  nature  ren- 
dered him  refractory  to  all  thought  of  foresight  or 
order.  The  friends  I  refer  to  arranged  his  home, 
and  brought  comfort  into  it.  "  He  died  in  a  golden 
house,"  wrote  Maurice  Barres.  So  it  was,  the  last 
amusement  of  this  big  child  having  been  to  paint 
everything  about  him  in  liquid  gold.  It  was  not 
even  an  irony  for  him !    His  eyes  dwelt  on  aU  this 


PAUL   VERLAINE  275 

gold  around  his  poverty  with  the  pleasure  of  Flau- 
bei't  describing  the  splendors  of  Salammbo !  A 
child  also  by  his  candor ;  and  one  of  the  most 
touching  proofs  he  gave  only  a  few  hours  before 
breathing  his  last. 

He  was  speaking  of  his  wife,  calling  on  her, 
invoking  her.  Suddenly  he  turned  affectionately 
to  one  who,  for  the  past  two  years,  had  watched 
over  him :  "  It  must  hurt  you  to  hear  me  ever 
thus  calling  out  for  her.  .  .  .  Pardon  !  " 

A  witness  of  this  scene  —  one  of  those  who  for- 
merly had  undertaken  the  monthly  collection  — 
tells  us  that  he  was  overcome  with  emotion  by  this 
double  anxiety  of  Verlaine's  heart  at  the  very 
moment  that  his  end  was  so  near.  The  early  ten- 
derness endured  throughout  an  existence  whose 
weaknesses  have  been  but  too  much  dwelt  upon  ; 
whilst  on  the  other  hand,  the  pain  of  distressing  a 
poor  human  heart,  whose  devotion  never  once  re- 
laxed from  the  time  of  their  association,  left  him 
no  repose. 

Love  was  the  last  movement  of  this  heart,  as 
love  had  been  its  first  impulsion.  This  faculty  of 
tenderness  is  felt  through  all  his  work ;  it  imposed 
itself  on  Verlaine's  friends,  who  in  turn  loved  him 
as  did  Count  Robert  de  Montesquiou.  Some  verses 
of  the  latter,  published  in  the  "  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes,"  reveal  the  note  of  a  delicate  singer, 
whom  the  vibrant  nature  —  "woman"  and  "artist" 
—  of  Verlaine  cannot  but  have  fascinated. 

What  will  be  Verlaine's  place  in  contemporary 
poetry  ?  For  Verlaine  is  no  classic,  still  less  a 
romantic.     This  is  a  secondary  question,  in  truth. 


276  PAUL    VERLAINE 

which  the  future  alone  can  settle.  The  centuries 
have  their  mysteries.  Konsard  and  Marot  were 
only  awakened  out  of  their  prolonged  classic  sleep 
—  prolonged  since  Corneille  and  Racine  —  by  ro- 
manticism. Rousseau  and  Madame  de  Stael  scat- 
tered over  our  national  path  pollen  of  the  pic- 
turesque which  brought  to  the  French  mind  the 
memory  of  Ronsard's  "  aubepines  "  and  "  rosees," 
and  Villon's  "  clairs  de  lune."  Taste  turned  to 
evocation,  and  the  sixteenth  century  reappeared. 
With  Verlaine  the  evolution  has  not  stopped. 

He  touched  the  heart,  and  that  is  the  road  to 
popularity.  The  pure  formists  address  themselves 
only  to  the  lettered  mind  —  to  the  special  critic. 
The  true  poet  invites  every  one  to  respond  to  his 
prayer ;  and  the  writer  of  "  Ecoutez  la  chanson 
bien  douce,"  the  writer  of  "  J'ai  revu  I'enfant," 
the  writer  of  "  Cheres  mains,"  and  of  so  many 
other  pieces,  like  Musset  and  like  Lamartine,  in 
confiding  to  all  the  secret  palpitations  of  his  heart, 
created  an  echo  in  the  French  soul. 

To  endure  one  must  move.  Feeling  alone  re- 
mains, and  Verlaine,  having  found  the  key  of  the 
French  heart,  has  done  more  for  his  own  immor- 
tality than  in  torturing  formulas  and  a  grimacing 
play  of  rhjone,  after  the  fashion  of  those  who 
borrow  their  fame  from  him  without  his  sensitive- 
ness. 

Sentiment,  however,  is  not  the  only  note  of  his 
own  individuality  left  by  him  as  an  inheritance  to 
posterity;  there  is  sensualism  as  well,  a  certain 
violent  outburst  of  the  satyr,  justifying  the  words, 
"  C'est  une  femme  et  un  satyre."     But  what  of 


PAUL  VERLAINE  277 

that  ?  is  it  not  a  new  proof  of  tlie  perfect  sincerity 
of  the  poet,  and  the  thorough  homogeneousness  of 
the  talent  and  the  man?  —  strong  instincts  as 
well  as  beautiful  delicacy  of  soul,  and  this  last 
gift  surviving  through  all  to  the  end.  There  is 
more  likeness  in  that  association  of  the  "  Faun 
and  the  tenderness,"  there  is  more  likeness  in  the 
alliance  of  these  tendencies,  between  Verlaine  and 
the  English  poet  Greene  than  between  even  Ver- 
laine and  Marot.  But,  again,  only  an  ephemeral 
likeness  ;  aufond  the  soul  of  Verlaine  is  French. 

He  has  sung  for  the  French  —  love,  joy,  and 
despair ;  his  manner  in  dealing  with  these  is 
French.  The  justness  of  the  poet's  sensibility 
inclines  to  the  nation  he  addresses  ;  there  is  the 
basis  of  the  durability  of  his  work.  Hence  the 
fact  that,  save  Shakespeare,  who  is  human,  and 
not  English,  —  as  Homer  and  Dante  are  human, 
and  not  Greek  or  Italian,  —  the  English  poets  do 
not  touch  us,  for  tears  and  laughter  are  essentially 
national  property.  In  a  word,  the  sentimental 
humor  of  races  is  individual  to  each  nation,  and 
the  indispensable  condition  for  maintaining  contact 
with  the  French  soul  is,  first  of  all,  to  love  and 
suffer  as  a  true  Frenchman. 

I  will  end  this  sketch  with  some  words  of  Zola 
touching  this  matter ;  they  will  more  precisely  fix 
the  chances  of  immortality  that  Verlaine  has  be- 
cause of  this  national  turn  of  mind  :  — 

"  If  poetry  be  but  the  natural  outflow  from  a 
soul,  if  it  be  but  music,  a  plaint  and  a  smile,  if  it 
be  the  free  fantasy  of  a  poor  being  that  suffers, 
that  enjoys,  that  sins,  that  weeps  and  repents,  Ver- 


278  PAUL   VERLAINE 

laine  is  tlien  the  most  admirable  poet  of  this  latter 
half  of  the  century." 

Verlaine  never  labored  either  to  experience 
quintessential  sentiments  or  to  paint  them  in  a 
grimacing  language;  he  was  always  Verlaine. 
Like  Musset,  "  he  drank  from  his  own  glass."  He 
felt  his  own  emotions,  and  recounted  them  to  the 
public,  without  exaggeration,  without  effort  or  the 
use  of  tinsel;  and  thence  the  durable  brightness 
that  his  poetic  star  will  probably  cast  over  France. 
During  his  lifetime,  as  it  too  often  happens,  his 
disciples  rather  dimmed  him  for  the  public  gaze. 
Death  is  his  resurrection ;  henceforth  he  stands 
upon  his  works.  "  Such  poems,"  says  Coppee, 
"  are  made  to  last.  I  assert  that  Paul  Verlaine's 
work  will  last." 

Yes,  his  work  wiU  live,  despite  some  of  his  dis- 
ciples, and  solely  because  of  the  flame  of  what 
Verlaine  had  in  his  own  soul,  and  of  what  he  felt 
in  his  own  heart.  He  loved  through  all ;  there  is 
a  spirit  of  life  in  that.  He  never  drew  himself  to 
himself.  He  never  retired  from  the  touch  of  other 
human  hearts.  His  palpitations  in  poetry  never 
grew  to  be  mere  literary  emotions.  Though  his 
outward  life  may  have  looked  solitary,  his  soul 
never  ceased  to  throb  with  other  souls. 

"  Mais,  sans  plus  mourir  dans  son  ennui, 
II  embarque  aussitot  pour  I'ile  des  Chimferes 
Et  n'en  apporte  rien  que  des  larmes  ameres 
Qu'il  savoure,  et  d'affreux  d^sespoirs  d'un  instant, 
Puis  rembarque." 

This  last  word  is  the  moral  epitome  of  Ver- 
laine's heart,  "puis  rembarque."     His  sorrow  for 


PAUL    VERLAINE  279 

self  always  gave  way  to  his  living  emotionalism 
—  the  tragic  Golgotha  of  "  all "  appealed  to  him 
ever  imperatively  enough  to  drown  "  self  "  !  That 
was  the  delicate  treasure  of  his  talent,  —  a  gem 
hard  enough  to  defy  decay. 


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